The Itch
by jmolly
Summary: Poor Bloody Infantryman Eddie Masen can only be soothed by Base Hospital Nurse Isobel Swan. Canadianward and Scottishella, Flanders, 1915. O/S from the Age of Edward Contest, 2015. Now a multi-chapter fic that will post weekly. This story contains references to assault and horrors of war.
1. Chapter 1

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︻┳═一 **At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we shall remember them.** ︻┳═一

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 _The Itch_ was my entry for the 2015 Age of Edward Contest. Judge Mina Rivera chose it as her second favourite story. That one-shot is now divided into five chapters for ease of reading. I have been writing more chapters in advance for some months and I just can't wait any longer to share Itchy with you. Chapters will post weekly.

Much thanks to my Betas, Lissa Bryan and Ladylibre, for falling in love with Itchy; and to angelari7 and FallingsnowWinter for the gorgeous banners. I'll have an album on Facebook shortly.

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 **This story is dedicated to the Canadian and Newfoundlander soldiers who fought in the Great War, including my grandfather, George Watson (1891-1980).**

 **At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we shall remember them.**

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 **The Itch**

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Flanders: October, 1915…

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Private Hale wanted to shoot the poor bastard and put him out of everyone's misery. "Masen!"

"What?" Masen hissed from the other side of the funk hole. (i)

"Stop scratching!"

"I can't."

"We all need to sleep and I can hear you from over here. What, have you got the clap (ii) or something?" For once, there were no bombs going off and could he sleep? No!

"Sorry." The kid might have been sorry, but that didn't stop him from scratching. Hale took his helmet from under his head, threw it and sneered as it bounced off Masen's arm. The hit wasn't the least bit satisfying. Hale would have preferred to lob the egg-shaped grenade (iii) in his pack at him.

"Hale!" Captain McCarty barked. "What the fuck are you doing? Helmet on!"

Mouth twisting, Masen passed the helmet back across the dark funk hole. "Sorry, Cap."

Hale put it on. "Sorry, Cap."

McCarty put his hands on his hips. "I asked you a question, Hale."

"Sir. Yes, sir. Masen won't stop scratching. He's keeping me awake."

"And me," Crowley said.

"And me," Yorkie said.

"I think he's got a bad case of the clap," Hale announced.

"I do not!" Masen snarled, scratching away.

"He's scratching—"

"It's not the clap! It's like a thousand blackflies bit me!"

Captain McCarty tugged on his beard. "Masen, follow me."

Masen stood wearily and his shoulders drooped. "Yes, sir." McCarty cut a swath through the warren of frozen trenches and Masen followed dejectedly behind. The kid had his hand thrust into his coat. McCarty could hear him scratching.

It was the second time in a month that this exemplary soldier had gotten into a scrap with his comrades. He had been a fun fellow when the First Unit came over. The boys had all liked him. But he never smiled anymore and had been threatened with discipline more than once for not taking care of his uniform. Maybe the war had gotten inside his head.

Throwing back the flap of the tent that served as an office in the trench, McCarty held it up so Masen could duck inside. The kid was all hunched up like a dog waiting to be beaten. He didn't look old enough to shave. Still, he wouldn't be the first to have wet his Johnson in some tainted French whore.

"Masen," McCarty searched for delicate words while he turned up the lantern. "You got a girl?"

"No, sir."

"Um," he scratched his beard, wondering if he ought to shave. His whiskers were uncomfortable but it was only going to get colder. "When you were on leave—"

"Sir, that was two months ago and I did not avail myself of any of the tarts in St. Julien or any other town. You should probably be talking to Conrad. Sir."

McCarty suppressed a sigh. "What's wrong with you, son? Why are you chewing the fat (iv)?"

"Nothing, sir! I am one hundred percent fit for duty, sir."

"Your coat's not buttoned."

"Yes, sir!" Masen took off his leather gloves and fumbled with the buttons. McCarty stopped him before he could do them up.

"Kid. I'm not going to court-marshal you for having your buttons undone."

Masen ducked his head slightly. "Yes, sir."

"Do you have a rash?"

Masen squirmed. "Yes, sir."

"Show me."

Pressing his lips together, Masen opened his coat and pulled up his sweater, shirt and undershirt. McCarty held up the lamp. Masen's belly was covered in a million red blisters. "Dear God."

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Isobel Swan opened the door to the surgery and waited expectantly.

"Ah, Nurse!" Colonel Cullen tied off a stitch on his patient's torso. "I wondered if you would have a look at a chap for me. He's been waiting two days and his unit wants him back (vi). Canadian fellow. Rather distinguished record for such a young man. He was one of the men who held the line at the Salientvii last spring when the Huns set off the gas."

"Of course, Colonel."

"Letter from his commanding officer says he has a rash. I'm sure it's the usual. Might take a bit of finesse, he's been arguing with Kelly. Wants to go back to the front. Swears there's nothing wrong with him. Have a look at it and tell me if it's serious, won't you? Private Masen."

"Yes, Colonel." She turned smartly on her heel and marched to the infirmary, smoothing down her white apron. Many gazes followed her as she walked to the large examining room. Wooden chairs lined the hallway. Allied soldiers with non-life-threatening ailments waited in silence. Twenty British, twelve Canadians and three Belgians, according to the uniforms. The stench of the hospital was probably putting them off chatting(viii). She had long since ceased to notice it.

"Private Masen?"

He stood and shifted on his feet self-consciously. "Yes, ma'am."

"Follow me, please." She resisted the urge to giggle. At eighteen years of age, she was still unaccustomed to being _madam-ed_ by a gaggle of injured men.

She took him in the room and shut the door. "Papers?"

He handed her the letter from his captain and stood at ease. Isobel read the letter twice. Edward Masen Jr. didn't seem a sufficiently imposing person to have pushed back the Kaiser's men along a six kilometer unmanned gap left by deadly chlorine gas. He was tall and thin, a colt that hadn't grown into its legs. However, since April, he had reported to distant field hospitals twice to be treated for chemical burns. She handed back his letter, which he folded and pocketed.

"Ye have a rash?"

He avoided looking at her. "Yes, Lieutenant."

She pointed at the two red bars on her sleeve. "My rank is Senior Nurse, soldier. But you may call me Nurse."(ix)

"Yes, Nurse. Is the doctor coming to see me?"

Her lips pinched down. She could smell a lie a mile away and this one knew very well what was ailing him. Venereal disease, in all likelihood. She put on a cheerful face. "Only if we cannae figure it out on our own. Colonel Cullen and Dr. Gerandy have been doing surgeries twenty hours a day. I have plenty of experience dealing with common maladies. Let's see it."

His face blanked. It wouldn't be the first time a soldier pretended to misunderstand her. "Ma'am?"

"Come on, then. I've been told that ye wish to get back to yer outfit, so hop to it." She waited primly with her hands folded. There was nothing soft in her posture. She would not budge.

Private Masen ducked his ginger head and blushed fiercely. She wanted to laugh but he looked like a lost bairn.

She folded her arms and sidled up to him. "Is it the clap?"

"No!" He turned redder than ever.

"Then there isnae anything to be embarrassed about. Strip down to your skivvies."

"My what?"

"Yer underclothes."

"That would not be appropriate."

"Dinna make me fetch Matron. She'll be having no nonsense from you."

He ran his hand through his hair, which was in need of cutting. "Perhaps that would be best."

"Verra well." She marched out and shut the door sharply. Her heels clacked on the hardwood as she peered around the ward. She could hear Matron chewing the ear off of someone but she couldn't see her.

Isobel knocked on the open door of the supply closet. Matron was inside, berating a Belgian orderly for a lack of handwashing.

"Matron?"

"Yes, Nurse?"

"We haff a bashful one. He willnae let me look at him."

"Really." The matron flicked her skirt, her beautiful mouth thin with disapproval. She stomped down to the examining room, red cape flapping, with Isobel following directly behind. She opened the door and Edward Masen looked up sheepishly. He blanched. Matron was perfect in her fair, English glory and had not lost her bloom at all. She had three bars on her sleeve, signifying a commensurate rank of Captain.

"Good evening, Private. I am Rosalie White, Matron of this hospital. I understand that you will not comply with my best nurse. Is there some problem?"

He opened his mouth to tell them they were women and he wasn't about to strip off his kit for them, but he didn't. He sagged. "No, Matron."

Rosalie nodded curtly and flicked her skirt. "Good." She marched out and shut the door with a bang. His jaw dropped. He shut his mouth with a snap.

Private Masen eyed his nurse as if she were a snake poised to strike. Isobel gestured at the screen propped in the corner.

"Kindly hurry up. There are other lads needing my attention. Ye may go behind there if ye wish, but ye shall nae be going back to the front until we have solved this. I dinnae ken what ye're sae worrit about. Ye've nothing I havenae seen before."

He released his breath in a long sigh and looked at his boots. He removed his belt and the khaki wool trench coat and set them on the examination table, turned his back and pulled off his sweater. Off came the long sleeved cotton shirt, leaving him in his sleeveless cotton undershirt. Isobel sucked in her breath.

He faced her, his mouth turned down, eyes glittering but lowered. "Do I have to show you more?"

She put one hand on his elbow and the other on his wrist, and inspected the welts that covered every inch. "How far does this extend?"

"Everywhere."

"These are hives."

"Yes."

"How long have ye had them?"

His green eyes welled with tears but he would not let them fall. "Two weeks."

She put her hands on her hips and clenched her teeth. "Since the winter uniform came out."

"Yes."

"Ye foolish man!" She flapped her arms at him. "Why didnae ye tell anyone ye're allergic to wool?"

When he raised his face to look at her, his eyes burned. "I tried to keep the summer uniform. I argued with my commanding officer. He told me that it wasn't up to him."

Isobel gawped at him. "Ye mean he knew you were allergic?"

"Not exactly."

"Explain."

"He didn't hear me out. Men who refuse to wear the uniform exactly as prescribed are court-marshalled."(x)

"But there must be exceptions!"

"They don't care."

Her voice went up with excitement. "They have tae care! Ye're scratching your skin to ribbons and it'll get infected! What use will ye be with the gangrene?"(xi)

Private Masen did not answer. She growled at him, stalked across the room, pulled a set of towels from the shelves and thrust them at him.

"Follow me!"

"Should I bring my things?"

"No. I'll call a yeoman."(xii)

He followed her past the waiting men and through a door into what seemed to be a cupboard. He blinked in the dim light and discovered a metal laundry tub approximately two feet square and one foot deep.

"Yeoman!" Isobel yelled, taking a washboard out of the tub. A diminutive girl with a red cross on her apron came scurrying. "Fetch hot water for a bath and then collect Private Masen's things from the examining room."

"Yes, Nurse."

Isobel turned to Edward, snatched the towels out of his hands and set them on a crate. "You come with me."

"Yes, Nurse."

She led him to a large storage area, where there were at least thirty buckets full of well water sitting on the floor. A couple of orderlies were adding detergent to them, starting at the far side of the room. Isobel pointed at some of the closer buckets.

"Those have not yet had the disinfectant added. Take two. The next time anyone says you are to have a bath, ye will come here and fetch yer own water. Take care ye do not get any with the Lysol."(xiii)

"Yes, ma'am." He carried the buckets to the storeroom past all the curious faces, and carefully emptied them into the washtub. The yeoman pushed open the door and upended two buckets of steaming hot water into it. Stacking all four buckets, she departed with them.

"I'll be back," Isobel said as she pitched a washrag into the water. Her words sounded more like a threat than a promise.

Edward Masen watched silently as she went out the door and locked him in.

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Mindful that his nurse could come in at any moment, Edward unwound his puttees, unlaced his boots, toed off his socks, unbuttoned his britches and undershirt and stripped down to his skin. He watched mist curl from the surface of the tiny tub with avarice. He hadn't had a bath since his last leave, nearly two months prior. He stuck a foot in the water and found it pleasantly warm. Not hot, but a damn sight better than anything else he'd encountered since arriving in the Wipers (xiv) in April.

He squatted down and almost tipped the tub over. After some false starts, he left his feet on the floor, held onto the tub's metal handles and lowered himself in. For a moment, his raw flesh stung. Then, the water brought almost instant relief. He scooped it up and dribbled it onto his chest and shoulders, wet his head, and hunted for the rag so he could wash his legs and feet.

When the nurse returned and kneeled down beside him, he was almost asleep and jumped as she held out a large bowl of thin oatmeal. He reached for it blearily with a murmur of thanks, but she snatched it back.

"It's nae for eating ye daft beggar."

"Oh." His stomach growled.

"When's the last time you ate?"

"I'm not sure." To Edward's consternation, she scooped up some gruel in her fingers. She smeared it onto his chest and he nearly levitated out of the tub in shock. Water sloshed onto the pretty nurse's apron and she got a first class eyeful of his masculine parts. He wanted to drop dead but she just flicked a small towel down over him. He hugged his knobby knees, shut his eyes and pretended she was an old, ugly crone and that he hadn't just mentally broken a couple of Commandments.

The nurse rubbed oatmeal on his back. "When I was a wee lass, I contracted the scarlet fever."

He glanced at her and away. "My baby sister died of that."

"I'm sorry. What was her name?"

"Mary. She was eight."

"That was my gran's name, only I'll wager it was spelled different. M-O-I-R-A." She scrubbed oatmeal into his scalp and had he been a cat, he'd have purred. "I was ten. Once the fever broke, Mam and Gran used oatmeal to calm the itch. I thought we'd try it first since Cookie might not care to spare me any baking soda." She chattered on as she washed him and his head began to nod. He didn't even know he'd fallen asleep until he opened his eyes to find two burly Frenchmen pulling him upright. They wound him in a wet cotton sheet.

" _Ne t'enquietes pas_ ,"(xv) one said, lifting him like a child. Edward was asleep before his head touched the mattress.

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Chilly air crept around his body, disturbing his rest. Something brushed against his privates. Fingers! Instantly awake, he found the beautiful matron inspecting his personal business. With a yelp, he rolled backward and hit the cold, unforgiving floor.

"Holy shit!" He snatched the sheet and yanked it up to his chin. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? Get out!"

Across the ward, two men murmured together and snickered.

Matron White's glare was petrifying. Would she banish him from the hospital? He gulped. The oatmeal bath really had helped and he had no wish to be kicked out with his treatment incomplete.

"I'm sorry, Matron." He knew he was blushing. He hated that. One of the men a few beds down snorted derisively.

Her expression was stony. "If you wish to be treated here, Private, I suggest you curb your tongue."

"Yes, Matron."

"Shall I introduce you to a mouthful of soap?"

She couldn't do that, could she? He bit his lip. "I'm terribly sorry for my foul language, ma'am. You startled me and I'm not accustomed…"

The matron turned up her English nose. "Private Masen, I assume you have not been kept in hospital before. Privacy and personal modesty are luxuries we cannot accommodate. Kindly guard your tongue so you do not injure my nurses."

"Indeed, ma'am. I am sorry, ma'am."

The matron turned away and waved at someone. "Nurse!"

Edward's nurse's narrow boots clicked on the floor. The matron addressed her in indecipherable mutters, snapped her fingers, pointed at him and left him sitting on the floor clutching the sheet like some imperiled heroine from a penny dreadful (xvi). The nurse covered her lush mouth with her fingertips, her dark eyes dancing.

"Have ye broken something, Tommy Canuck?" (xvii)

He shook his head. "Just my pride." And maybe a Commandment. A beautiful, unmarried woman had touched him. Was that sort of conduct normal? Back home, he'd have had to marry her, even if she was several years his senior. What a horrifying thought!

His nurse's smile was wider than her fingers could hide. "Can ye get up or shall I fetch an orderly?"

He looked around self-consciously. The bloodied man in the bed next to him lay unmoving. Down the way, a man who had been blown up lay naked except for bandages, his skin charred black. Across the aisle, another was asleep with his backside hanging out. Edward gathered the sheet around him and his feet under him. The nurse held the thin cotton quilt from his kit. She had obviously realized that his army blanket would be no comfort to his rebellious flesh. He slid onto the mattress and she covered him up.

"How do you feel?"

"Mortified."

She laughed and his breath caught. What would she look like without her hair hidden by that white veil?

"Ye'll get used to it."

He winced. "It's not just that. I shouldn't be here, taking up a bed."

She pulled up a stool and leaned toward him. "Now see here, Private. What did they teach you about keeping yer tinder dry?"

He bit his lip.

"Ye've scratched yerself raw, PBI (xviii), and let in the trench muck."(xix)

Dread twisted his belly. The skin between his legs was on fire. His hand tightened on the sheet.

"Matron wants me to have a look at ye. Dinna tell me tis nae appropriate."

Looking at the ceiling, Edward released the sheet from his clutches and brought his hands up onto his breast, where he closed his fists to disguise their tremble. She lifted one side of the sheet, cursed like a sailor under her breath and shouted, "Matron!"

Edward turned white as a ghost. The matron did her own inspection and clicked her tongue. She addressed his nurse.

"You must wash him in carbolic lotionxx and I want the wounds sealed in paste (xxi). He's not to dress or get off the bed until every mark is completely scabbed over."

"Yes, Matron."

Matron White turned her glare on him. "It's a good thing you came. A couple of more days and we'd be debridingxxii you _down there_ for gangrene."

He gulped.

"No more scratching!"

He managed to nod.

His nurse brought a robe and helped him into it. She took him back to the treatment room and ordered him onto the examining table. He watched apprehensively as she gathered supplies and scrubbed her hands raw.

She brought over a bottle of carbolic lotion and a bowl of paste, on a tray. "Lie down." She took his wrist, brought it to the side of the table, and picked up the leather restraint to buckle him down. He pulled out of her grip.

"I don't need that."

She leaned over him, near enough to kiss. "Edward, ye'd nae like to hurt me, would you?"

He blinked. "I'd never hurt you."

"A decorated officer broke a nurse's jaw last week."

He placed his hands in the restraints and allowed her to fasten them. He'd have preferred to face a hundred Huns.

"Thank you." She stroked his hair. "It is gonna hurt."

He did his best to smile. "I feel as though I ought to know your name first."

She pressed her lips between her teeth, but smiled anyway. "We're not supposed to tell you our names." (xxiv)

"Oh."

She continued to stroke his hair. "How old are ye, Edward?"

"Eighteen."

"I know that's what it says on yer papers, but how old are ye really?" Boys, eager for adventure, lied all the time to get in. Unless a parent exposed them, they got away with it.

"My birthday was at the end of September."

"How old?"

He felt his forehead crinkle. "You won't tell?"

Her mouth hovered next to his. He could feel her corset against his arm.

"I won't betray you."

He swallowed hard and breathed, "Sixteen."

She nearly folded herself onto his chest. And him a hero at the Salient! (xxvi) Her eyes stung. "Why do ye nae wish to go to Blighty?" (xxvii)

He caught his breath. "I want my father to be proud of me."

The urge to weep on him was strong but he needed her strength. She ducked down to his ear and her breath was hot on his skin. "Isobel." She pressed her lips to his temple, knowing and not caring that it was forbidden.

Edward blushed and turned his face away as she opened his dressing gown. He clenched his jaw and held his breath.

A cloth saturated with carbolic touched the worst of his wounds and he gasped. The more it penetrated, the worse it burned. "N-no, stop!"

"Ye maun have it, dearie." Rapidly, Isobel washed him all over. When she swept the cloth across his inner thighs, he screamed.

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i **Funk hole** : a stinking underground room dug into the front part a trench where the men could go to rest when not on duty. Sometimes, they would build bunks, but often they just slept on the dirt floor.

ii **The Clap** : An STI called gonorrhea, characterized by a yellowish, itchy, burning discharge from the penis. From the French word _clapoir_ , which means brothel.

iii **Grenades** were new weapons in 1915. The ones the Allies used were egg-shaped.

iv **Chew the fat** : In the US Civil War, it meant "to sit around and gossip", but by WW1, it meant "to complain or argue, to behave or speak resentfully, or sulk."

vi **Triage** was a brand new concept (thank you, France) but its performance was very different during WW1 than it is today. Increasingly, instead of the most badly injured patients being given priority in triage, the time required to provide such treatment compelled British surgeons to prioritize in favour of patients with critical but less complicated wounds [77]. A British manual listed the goals of triage as first conservation of manpower and secondly the interests of the wounded [146]. So, patients who were expected to die without a lot of treatment, or who would not be able to return to fighting (amputees, for example), would not be treated as soon as men who could be treated quickly and sent back to the battlefield. Officers received treatment before men of common rank.

vii **A** _ **salient**_ is a battlefield feature that projects into enemy territory. _The salient_ is surrounded by the enemy on three sides, making the troops occupying _the salient_ vulnerable. The enemy's line facing a _salient_ _i_ s referred to as a re-entrant (an angle pointing inwards). In 1915, a small number of Canadian troops held Ypres Salient against attacking Germans who employed gas. The few Canadians who managed to stand even took prisoners.

viii **To Chat:** From the French _chatte_ (originally, a louse. Now, "a woman's pussy" so be careful where you use it). Men would sit around when not on duty and pick lice off each other while they talked. This was called chatting or having a chat. When they went home, the expression was soon widely adopted to mean, "sitting around and having a friendly conversation."

ix **Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service or Nursing Reserve** , est. 1902, referred to as: **QAIMNS or QAIMNR.** The **Regular** **Service** military nurses (QAIMNS) wore a scarlet cape (or tippet) and **Reserve** nurses wore a grey cape edged in red. All wore a blue-grey cotton dress and a white apron with or without a red cross. A white veil was worn when on duty. A straw hat would be worn outside and by those who were not on duty. Most British nurses wore the grey cape for the duration of the war because at the outbreak of WW1 there were only 297 members of QAIMNS - matrons, sisters and staff nurses. They were employed in military hospitals at home, and overseas in Malta, Gibraltar, Egypt, South Africa and China. The majority of military nurses served in the **QAIMNR (Reserve)**. There were more than 90,000 women who served with the Nursing Service and 12,000 women who served with the Reserve in all theatres at some time during the Great War.

In addition, QAIMNS sisters wore red stripes on their lower sleeve to signify rank, and these were stitched to the dress material.

x This is true. If a man was allergic to wool, he was expected to do his duty honourably and without complaint by wearing it. Those who failed to do so could be court-marshalled.

xi **Gangrene** : refers to the death of body tissue due to a lack of blood flow or a bacterial infection. _Gangrene_ most commonly affects the extremities, including toes, fingers and limbs, but it can also occur in muscles and internal organs. Penile gangrene still exists. Treatment for gangrene is not terribly effective so sufferers must undergo amputation or debridement. Trench foot is a form of gangrene that soldiers still must be diligent against today.

xii The Yeomen Nurses of the British Red Cross were active throughout the war, although the American Red Cross was not officially present until 1918. Yeoman Nurses (known as VADs) could be male or female and belonged to Voluntary Aid Detachments. They carried out a range of voluntary positions including nursing, transport duties, and the organisation of rest stations, working parties and auxiliary hospitals. Women were taught first aid, home nursing and hygiene by approved medical practitioners. They also took classes in cooking. Men were trained in first aid in-the-field and stretcher bearing. Talented VADs could take specialist classes to become a masseuse or use an x-ray machine. VADs had to pass exams to receive their first aid and home nursing certificates.

xiii **Lysol** (from _Lysis-ol_ ): Lysol Brand Antiseptic Disinfectant was introduced in 1889 to help end a cholera epidemic in Germany. The original formulation of Lysol contained cresols, which were quite poisonous. In 1918, during the Spanish flu pandemic, Lysol was advertised as an effective countermeasure to the virus. Newspaper ads gave tips to prevent the spread of the disease, including washing sick-rooms and everything that came in contact with patients with Lysol. A small (US50¢) bottle made five gallons (19 litres) of disinfectant solution, and a smaller (US25¢) bottle 2 gallons (7.5 litres). The company also advertised the "unrefined" Lysol F. & F. (Farm & Factory) for use in factories and other large buildings – a 5-gallon can (19 litres) could, when diluted as directed, make 50 gallons of disinfecting solution. Interestingly, in the 1920s, Lysol was marketed as an effective douche to make women's private parts clean and attractive, and was also used to prevent contraception.

xiv **The Wipers** : British trench slang for Ypres. **Ypres Salient** (pronounced _Eep-ruh Say-lee-ent_ in English) in Belgium was the scene of some of the biggest WW1 battles. The boundaries of the Salient changed many times during the war, but the allies never lost Ypres once.

xv _**Ne t'enquietes pas**_ : Don't be unsettled/upset.

xvi **Penny dreadful** : a magazine printed on inexpensive paper with simple but exciting, sensational, highly-illustrated stories that became immensely popular with the British Victorian public after 1830. The penny dreadful later evolved into the **Dime Store Novel.**

xvii **Tommy/Johnny Canuck** : British trench slang for a Canadian soldier.

xviii **PBI: Poor Bloody Infantry** , the purpose of whose existence seemed to be to act as a post upon which to hang up a backpack comprising half a man's weight.

xix **Trench muck** : mud from the trenches was often comprised of dirt, stagnant water, heavy metals, feces, blood, urine, human remains, etc. and obviously teemed with bacteria and other toxins. The smallest scratch could admit bacteria that could kill. There were no antibiotics. Gangrene often resulted.

xx **Carbolic lotion** was used to wash wounds, which were then wrapped in gauze soaked in the same solution.

xxi **Paste aka 'Bipp' (bismuth iodoform paraffin paste)** was smeared over severe wounds to prevent infection. It contained iodine so it must have stung horribly.

xxii **Debridement** : As there were no antibiotics or sulphonamides, a number of alternative methods were employed. The practice of 'debridement' – whereby the tissue around the wound was cut away and the wound sealed – was a common way to prevent infection.

xxiii **Huns/Krauts** : derogatory nicknames for Germans

xxiv In certain branches of service, women were expected to remain anonymous so as to discourage men from taking a personal interest in them.

xxv You had to be 18 to sign up. My own grandfather joined the Canadian Cavalry when he was 14 years old. He wasn't caught and served throughout the war. We don't know where he served as he never talked about it with family members. He also lied about his age so he could be in the Army Reserves in WWII when he was 38. Of course, one of his sons must have thought that was wonderful because he tried to run away from home to join the navy during WWII. Uncle Jack got scared and ran away from the base and MPs came looking for him. That's when he got caught and discharged. I'd love to have been a fly on the wall when my grandmother told them he was sixteen. That kid was a handful.

xxvi **Ypres Salient** : the area around Ypres where battle lines constantly changed.

xxvii **Go to Blighty/Old Blighty** : Go to Britain, where wounded allied soldiers were sent _en route_ to their own countries. The nickname is derived from an East Indian word for homeland.


	2. Chapter 2

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Chapter Two

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Edward awoke in the cold with a start. He was lying on his bed in the dark, buck naked (i). His wrists were secured to the bars of his headboard with bandages. He tugged at them but they only grew tighter.

"Nurse?" he called loudly, his heart hammering.

"Hush! Ye'll wake them all up." He realized Isobel had been sitting in a rocking chair at the foot of his bed, with his heavy wool coat across her lap. She set it aside, perched on the edge of his bed as though his nakedness was nothing, and began to loosen his bonds.

"What time is it?" he whispered.

"Half past two. Ye never stop making trouble, dearie. Ye were scratching in your sleep." She sounded so tired.

"I konked out (ii), didn't I?"

"Yes. It was a blessing." She took his hand into her lap and rubbed his wrist with her thumbs. He moved his other hand down to cover himself. She prevented him. "Ye maun not touch yerself, or cover up."

"But—"

"Yer injuries are coated in medicated paraffin. As long as it stays on, it'll keep out the germs."

"Can't I have something for modesty? A bit of gauze, even?"

"No. I'm sorry. But you're a brave soul, ye'll live."

"But it's cold."

She pulled something out of her skirt pocket and smiled at him. She took his hand and stuffed it into the object. "In a couple of days, you can have the pyjamas."

His eyes widened. "A couple of _days_?"

"Hush!"

He sagged, blowing out his breath. "What are you doing to me, woman?"

"Ye cannae scratch."

"Mittens? Like an infant?"

"I wouldnae give up my silk stockings for just anyone, Mr. Masen."

He tucked his chin. "Thank you."

"Ye're welcome. Where in Canada are you from? Sometimes, I think ye have a bit of an Irish brogue."

"Ah, here and there. My family came from Irish stock. Besides, I'm probably picking up on yours."

"Bit of a minah?"

"Aye."

Devil. "We don't say _aye_. Tis nae for the educated." She released his mitten-clad hand. "I have something better for you than mittens."

"Oh?"

She held up his mess kit and spoon. "Hot bully beef." (iii)

︻┳═一

Isobel sat with Edward the next two nights after her shift, her needle passing in and out of his jacket, and told him stories about her childhood in the Highlands. Her father had been a crofter with a small flock of sheep. He'd passed away due to a weak heart when she was fifteen, and her mam, Rennie, had sent her to live in London with a maiden aunt.

Edward anticipated her nightly arrival eagerly. There were an average of 300 nurses at the hospital and 400 injured at times when the fighting wasn't thick. When it was bad, she said, there could be as many as 1200 men in the chateau. (iv) She wouldn't have time to spend with him then, so he treasured every moment.

Matron stopped by to check the patient in the next bed. "Nurse, as long as you're here, will you check this man periodically? I don't like the look of him."

"Yes, Matron, of course."

Rose White repressed a smile as Private Masen avoided looking at her. Evidently, he had adjusted to having Isobel around but was still appalled to be laid out in front of other women like a suckling pig on a platter. She was tempted to offer him an apple. "And how are you, Private?"

He cleared his throat softly. "I'm fine, ma'am. A bit cold."

The matron held out her lantern and bent over to inspect him. She was entertained when he moved to cover himself with his mitten-clad hands. She grunted in disapproval and he turned red but placed his hands at his sides.

"Much better, private Private. Will you roll over for me, please?"

He turned immediately onto his stomach and she shone her lantern down on his back. "Excellent. Nurse, if there is a nightshirt available, this man may have it."

A sweet smile transformed Edward's face. He looked the matron straight in the eye. "Thank you, Matron!"

She shook her head lightly as Isobel hurried off. The PBI was healing and would soon return to the front so the Huns could lob potato mashers (v) at him. She trusted Isobel, so she didn't call a halt to the special attention she was paying the young man. However, she considered it prudent to cover up his person before he got any healthier.

︻┳═一

By the time Isobel returned with a dingy white nightshirt and an abandoned pair of shabby slippers, Edward was cheerfully tucked up under his covers. He pushed up on his elbows. When Isobel gathered up the cloth of the nightshirt and pulled it down over his head, he fed his arms through the sleeves and laughed under his breath.

"This looks like something my granny would have worn." Peeping at her coyly, he tucked the skirt under his covers.

Isobel flattened out the old-fashioned collar. "Tis nae haute couture, for certain, but it's serviceable." She forbade herself to think how much she would miss watching him sleep unclothed.

"Yes."

She shook her head to clear it. "I'd best be going to my quarters. Morning comes early."

He turned back his covers and swung his feet to the floor. He had lovely feet. Slender and long. She watched him put on the slippers, realized she was staring and gave herself a shake.

"What are ye doing, Eddie?"

"Walking you out."

Her quarters were in the attic but she wasn't about to tell him that. "Oh. Ye don't need to…"

"Please." He moved to take her elbow but she twitched it away.

"Ye maun not touch me. The matron will put a stop to it."

"I have seen you walking with many a man."

She avoided looking at him. "That's different. They would fall without my support."

He tucked his hand into the crook of her arm. "I will fall without your support."

Her protest died in her throat. The word fall should never pass his lips. He would go back to the front. He could go at any time and come back in pieces. She couldn't bear the thought of him falling. His hand was warm on her sleeve. His fingertips touched when they encircled her arm. She stepped into the aisle and he kept pace with her. Nobody paid them any heed.

They walked to the front entrance of the hospital, avoiding those being brought in off the train. She turned shyly to look up at him. He was so tall for his age. Would he grow more? "Go back to bed now, before ye catch your death."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Will you get into trouble if you take off your veil?"

"Yes!" He looked so abashed for asking something personal that she bit her lip. She whispered, "Good night."

His eyes were so green. He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Good night, Isobel."

She picked up her skirts and fled.

Edward watched her go. Then he headed for his cot, lost in thought. Someone nudged his arm.

"Fine looking girl, that nurse."

The blue-eyed, freckled Irishman beside Eddie had his arm in a sling. He smiled amiably. "Shame she's married to Jesus."

Edward felt his forehead crease. "She's a Sister Nurse, not a nun."

"You mean they're up for grabs?"

"No!"

The soldier held his hands up in surrender. "I'm not gonna poach your girl, Johnny. No need to—"

"She's not mine."

"To be sure, she isn't!"

Edward folded his arms and scowled. "Look, Tommy (vi), she's a good girl. I don't want to get her in trouble. The nurses aren't even allowed to tell us their names, never mind court us."

The soldier rolled his eyes. "Why do you call us Tommies?"

"Why do you call us Tommy or Johnny Canucks?"

"Ah, you're just the diminutive form of the British."

Edward laughed despite himself. The soldier stuck out his left hand. "Michael Newton, grenadier."

Edward shook it awkwardly. "Edward Masen, PBI."

"Pleased to meet ya, foot-slogger." (vii)

"Likewise."

"When you getting out?"

"I don't know. A few days…"

"I can't wait to go to Blighty!"

"Ah, no." Edward shook his head. "I'm going back to the front."

Newton stopped smiling. "Sorry, PBI."

"Why?"

"Well." Newton lifted his sling-encased arm and Edward realized that there was no hand sticking out of it. "I suggest you don't get yourself blown up, okay? It's not as pleasant as the Krauts claim."

︻┳═一

Rustles and chitters woke Edward from a bad dream. He blinked blearily and the man in the next bed slowly came into focus. Something moved on his chest. Somethings. There was a strange sound. Clicking.

"Nurse!" Edward bellowed. "Nurse!"

One of the yeoman nurses of the Red Cross came running. "What's the matter with you? Men are trying to sleep!"

Edward pointed shakily at the man next to him. "Trench rabbits!" (viii)

The yeoman spun to look at the man and fainted dead away.

︻┳═一

"I hear ye had some excitement last night," Isobel said as she inspected his rash.

"Too much." Edward had barely slept after seeing the rats gnawing away at the man's face and chest. Had Edward not stirred, there might have been nothing but bones left of the poor bastard by morning. The yeoman he'd summoned had concussed herself when she hit the floor and was tucked up somewhere in her own bed.

Isobel covered Edward up and gave his hand a squeeze. "Dinna worry. He was dead before they got to him."

"I'm not worried."

"Of course not."

"There are tons of rabbits in the trenches."

"Yes. I know."

"I just didn't expect them to be here."

"It's a good hospital. What we need is a feisty terrier."

"The men would spoil it rotten."

"Do ye like dogs?"

"Yes."

"Have ye got one?"

"No, but I'll have one someday."

"It's the one thing I miss about Scotland. The wee black terriers. I'd like one of those."

"Are you going back after the war?"

"My mam keeps asking but all she has is the little croft and sheep. It's not even big enough for a family."

He rolled his eyes. "You won't be going back there, then."

Her heart did a flip. "What?"

"Nothing."

"What will ye do when you get out? Have ye got work?"

Edward grimaced. "Yes, but it isn't something to which I wish to return. I'll be in a band, maybe."

"A band? Music?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "I play the piano. My mother thought I should pursue a classical career but the old music is so stodgy."

"Debussy isn't stodgy."

His eyes lit up. "Ah, no. Debussy's music is wonderful. I tried to get my parents to listen to it, but they won't listen to anything from the Twentieth Century."

"Whose music do ye like?"

He tucked his hand under the pillow. "Irving Berlin. Jerome Kern. Gilbert and Sullivan."

"Oh, the popular music! Do ye like Ragtime, then?"

"Yes, I love it. You don't subscribe to the theory that _Alexander's Ragtime Band_ promotes criminal insanity?" (ix)

"How could such delightful music possibly do that?"

Edward's jaw dropped. "You like it? Really?"

"I do! Irving Berlin is my favourite."

"Ah, he writes some wonderful love songs."

"What's your favourite?"

He rolled his eyes. "You'll think I'm a sap." ( x)

"I doubt it. Which one?"

" _God Gave You to Me_." ( _xi)_

"I don't know that one. Can ye sing it?"

"Well…" He turned pink.

"Oh, come on, please?"

"Well, all right." He wet his lips and looked at her somewhat nervously. " _For every care there's an angel who makes the care seem small. For every prayer there's an answer for One who answers all."_

In the ward, conversations ceased. Members of the staff slowed their steps to listen.

"The flowers prayed for sunshine so God gave the flowers the sun. The birds prayed to be merry so God gave a song to each one.

" _The trees prayed for the springtime so God gave the spring to each tree. My lonely heart prayed for someone so God gave you to me."_

Isobel looked at the floor. In a month, he wouldn't remember her. But his fingers slipped into hers anyway and she let them remain.

"For every heart there is gladness when eyes are wet with tears. For every care there's an answer from One who always hears."

Matron White stepped into the doorway and gawped at the PBI making love to her nurse in the middle of the ward in the middle of the morning (and nearly had a conniption).

" _The trees prayed for the springtime so God gave the spring to each tree. My lonely heart prayed for someone so God gave you to me."_

Matron had to admit that he had a lovely baritone. However, her Senior Nurse was about to burst into tears in front of the whole blasted allied army. "Nurse Swan!"

Isobel jumped a mile. She hid her hands behind her back with the guilty air of a child caught stealing sweets. Matron flicked her skirts and marched to the foot of the PBI's bed.

"I am growing concerned about the stores of cannabis, (xii) cocaine (xiii) and codeine.(xiv) They seem to be disappearing at an alarming rate and I suspect someone is pilfering them. Kindly perform a full inventory of our stock." She held out her keys.

Isobel ducked her head and took them. "Yes, ma'am." Her heels clicked on the floorboards as she marched out, every eye following her.

The matron fixed a steely glare on the private Private, whose actions were no longer remaining sufficiently private! He didn't look the least bit contrite. "Follow me!"

"Yes, ma'am." She took him to the large examining room where she'd met him on his first day.

"What have you to say for yourself, Tommy Canuck?"

He stood at ease, barefoot, in a nightshirt. The soldier was either foolish or admirably brave. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" He shook his head to clear it. "Ma'am?"

"Granted."

"I'm going to marry your Senior Nurse, ma'am."

Rosalie White opened her mouth but nothing came out but a squeak. The PBI still looked supremely collected, as though they were only discussing the merits of strong black tea. "What do you mean, Private? Has Bella accepted your proposal?"

He shifted on his feet. "No, ma'am. She would be looney to accept a proposal from me at this time, ma'am. That does not negate the fact that I am going to marry her."

She huffed a laugh, but he didn't so much as twitch. The Poor Bloody Infantryman was sincere. She clasped her hands and slowly shook her head. "PBI Masen, are you aware how many proposals my nurses hear a day?"

"I am sure your angels of mercy hear quite a few. Has Isobel ever taken interest in a patient before, as far as you know, ma'am?"

She took a step closer to him. "No. She has never even broken the rules by telling a soldier her name. And that is why I am warning you not to take liberties with her. I will not permit anyone to harm her, and she blatantly favours you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You are likely going to be sent back to the front in a few days and she will be left here alone. Should you be fortunate enough to court Isobel, keep your courtship private, Private. There are men here who watch to discover which women are loose."

He blanched. "I am sorry, ma'am. I never thought…"

She shook her head. "You may find yourself fighting more than one battle, PBI. Try not to get yourself blown up, won't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She gestured at him. "I think it's time for you to contribute to the war effort again."

His forehead creased. "Are you sending me back already, ma'am? I thought you said the infection—"

She silenced him with a gesture. "I have found that music soothes the savage breast, do you not agree?"

His eyes flickered. "Yes."

"This hospital used to be a grand chateau. Upstairs, in storage, is a ridiculously gaudy grand piano."

"Ma'am?"

"It's pink. Someone painted cartoon lovers all over it. For all we know, this was a brothel."

Edward tried and failed to repress a smile. Rosalie sniffed and flicked her hand dismissively.

"I am going to ask Colonel Cullen if you may have permission to play it for the men."

"Ma'am, although I expect I would greatly enjoy that duty, I must point out that the Brass may not approve of the piano, or of the music I can play by heart. Most of it is Ragtime. Almost all of it comes from Tin Pan Alley."

"Is it cheerful music, soldier?"

"Mostly, ma'am. Some of it is sentimental."

"Maudlin?"

"Some might say so."

"I shall discuss it with the commanding officer. Meanwhile, PBI, you will ask one of the yeomen for paper, envelopes and pens, and write letters for some of the lads who have no strength or eyes to do it for themselves."

"Yes, ma'am!"

︻┳═一

Isobel, meanwhile, scratched marks into her ledger and notebook and swiped tears from her cheeks. How bloody stupid to allow herself to become attached to a soldier whom she would likely never see again! She had spent less time with other patients in order to sit with him and soon, he would be gone. Although it would kill her to do it, she would ask one of the other nurses to swap patients. She wouldn't see him again.

A knock came upon the dispensary door. It was not the proper knock. She hunched, corset ribs creaking, then relaxed. Nobody could get in; only Rosalie and the doctors had keys. A few minutes later, the proper knock came. She tiptoed to the door and rapped out the proper response. Again, the caller gave the proper knock. Isobel unlocked the door. Rosie probably wanted to put a flea in her ear; she had certainly been kind not to rebuke Isobel in front of the ward.

Isobel found herself face to face with the mouth of a gun. She felt the colour drain from her face. Her ledger, notebook and pen fluttered to the floor.

An enormous man in a French uniform stepped forward and she stepped backward. He pushed the door shut without looking.

" _Écoute-moi. Donne-moi tout de l'opium, de la cocaïne et de l'héroïne._ _" ( xv)_

She gulped. He could not afford to leave her alive. She thought of Edward and her throat closed up. Mechanically, she walked to the shelves and began to collect bottles and put them in a sack.

" _Dépêche-toi, cherie._ _"( xvi)_

She put in the last of it, and held out the sack. He snatched it from her, set it down against the door, and stepped toward her. She refused to back away. He put the gun to her forehead and she closed her eyes. His excited breaths bathed her cheeks and turned her stomach.

He spun her around and pushed her down. She screamed and tried to crawl away but he held her down by her hair, put his weight on her and lifted her skirts.

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

i **Buck naked** : Completely naked. Condescendingly applied in the US to Natives and Black slaves. To the historically aware speaker, " **buck naked** " conjures up stereotypical images of naked "savages" or—worse—slaves labouring naked on plantations. Consider using the alternative expression " **stark** **naked**."

ii **Konk out:** pass out, die, quit

iii **Bully beef** : tinned beef with gravy

iv The then-unprecedented mass casualties in World War I (1914–1919), with horrific wounds from machine guns and shell fragments, and the effects of poison gas, created terrific strains on British and French medical units. The advent of motorized transport helped make possible the establishment of **British Casualty Clearing Stations (CCS)** approximately 6 to 9 miles behind the front lines, where makeshift hospitals were established in trenches. The CCS were advanced surgical units, staffed by surgeons, anesthetists, and nurses—the closest women had gotten to the front lines in a modern conflict [41]. The stations were designed to admit between 150 and 400 wounded at a time, but they often were overwhelmed with 1000 or more patients. Triage occurred here. Then, the wounded were either treated or sent by train or ambulance to formal hospitals (which might have been a commandeered mansion or hotel). From there, men would either return to duty or be evacuated to Britain via ships.

v **Potato masher** : a stick bomb shaped like a potato masher that was used by the Germans. It was thrown like a grenade.

vi **Tommy** : a soldier from Great Britain

vii **Foot-slogger** : someone who marches. An army soldier.

viii **Trench rabbits** : rats.

ix " **Alexander's Ragtime Band** " is a song by Irving Berlin. It was his first major hit, in 1911. Not everyone was a fan. I couldn't find the provenance of this newspaper article, which was widely circulated at the time: _Beware of the Ragtime Germ_. _You certainly will get "dippy" if you become too fond of the syncopated melodies. "Alexander's Ragtime Band" is a public menace and it doesn't do to dance too many two-steps._

 _The authority for these statements is Ludwig Gruener of Berlin, a German alienist who has devoted twenty years' study to the criminal insane. List to what he says in an interview in Los Angeles, Cal.: Hysteria is the form of insanity that an abnormal love for ragtime seems to produce. It is as much a mental disease as acute mania—it has the same symptoms. When there is nothing done to check this form it produces idiocy._

 _Dr. Gruener says that 90 percent of the inmates of the American asylums he has visited are abnormally fond of ragtime. On the other hand, they fail to respond to classic music. Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata means nothing to them, while heavy doses of ragtime will sooth the nerves of a patient violent enough to be put in a straitjacket._

" _Too much ragtime is a curse. It sets people off their mental hinges. Ragtime isn't music—it's a disease," is the doctor's opinion._

x **Sap** : a person who can't think.

xi _**God Gave You to Me**_ : a 1915 song by Irving Berlin that was not widely popular. I have the sheet music but couldn't find any recordings online.

xii **Marijuana (Cannabis)** was available for medical treatment in the early years of the 20th Century in England and America. It was used as an analgesic and was prescribed for migraine, neuralgia and dysmenorrhoea. The preparations available were the alcoholic tincture and aqueous extract.

xiii **Cocaine** **Hydrochloric** : used as a local anesthetic, a mydriatic (pupil dilation drug), and cerebral stimulant.

xiv **Codeine** : a sedative in the treatment of coughs to lessen irritation in the respiratory tract. Of great value in calming the cough of tuberculosis.

xv _**Écoute-moi. Donne-moi tout de l'opium, de la cocaïne et de l'héroïne :**_ Listen to me. Give me all the opium, cocaine and heroin.

xvi _**Dépêche-toi, cherie**_ Hurry up, dear.


	3. Chapter 3

︻┳═一

Surprise! Don't count on an extra chapter every week. I'll be sticking to Wednesday posts. Today, we're celebrating because this story is the Friday Feature Fic on Rob Attack. You may thank Rita01TX. And she made me an awesome banner, too. Go check it out!

Much thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I haven't had time to answer everyone yet, but I am enjoying your reviews immensely.

Xoox Jess

︻┳═一

Chapter Three

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

Edward was strolling down the hallway back to his bed, after Matron dressed him down, when he heard a muffled cry. Frowning, he stopped and listened. It came again. He walked to one of the doors. Nothing. He stopped at the next one. Again, nothing. At the third? A scream. He pushed open the door and almost walked out again. Some Poilu (i) was having his way with a woman in the storeroom.

The woman screamed, "No-o-o-o!" And that was when he realized two things: one, the man had a gun to her head. Two, it was his Isobel. She was begging for mercy. Edward saw red. He pushed the door wide and heard the tinkling of glass. The man, who was laughing wickedly and uttering filthy threats, did not pause. Edward straddled the masher's legs, wrapped his arm around his neck and twisted his head viciously to the side. The bastard slumped in his hold. Edward pushed him off Isobel and he flopped backward onto the floor.

Isobel knelt kowtowed, bawling like a babe. There was blood on her white wool stockings. Gently, Edward pulled down her petticoats and skirt and lifted her onto his lap. Eyes squeezed shut, she shook so hard that her teeth chattered. He rocked her and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"I'm here, Bella. I've got you. _Shhh_ …"

Her hair had been pulled out of its pins. It fell in lustrous brown waves almost to her waist. There was blood in it. He started to pull out the pins and then realized they were evidence that she had been accosted.

One of Isobel's boots had come off and there was a hole in her stocking. She must have fought very hard. He handed her the boot and edged her onto the floor. She fumbled to put on the boot. He rose.

"Keys?"

She did not answer. She had not managed to put on her boot. Her eyes were alarmingly blank. Edward looked around and found the keyring sitting on the edge of the table. Taking it, he pulled Isobel to her feet and swept her up in his arms. She went limp. A sack with small brown bottles spilling out of it lay between him and the door. Some of them had broken, and the dark contents had puddled in the shards of glass. Edward avoided stepping on them in his bare feet. He braced Bella in his grip and locked the door, then carried her down the hall to the examining room and kicked at the door with the bottom of his foot.

"Matron!" he bellowed. "Matron!"

A Tommy approached and leaned against the wall beside him, smirking.

"She's not there, mate. Left just after you. Drunk is she?"

"No, she's been attacked."

The Tommy jerked his thumb toward the wards. "Matron headed that way."

Edward turned a deadly gaze upon him. "Get her. Now."

Wisely, the Tommy jogged away without argument.

︻┳═一

Matron doubled her pace when she saw Bella fainting in the PBI's arms. "What happened?" Stonily, he handed her the keys and she let them into the room. He lifted Bella onto the examining table and composed her limbs, then turned to stand at attention. His eyes glittered with fury.

She recoiled. The front of his nightshirt had blood on it.

"There is a dead man in your dispensary. I killed him. Be careful of the broken glass on the floor."

Matron White left her nurse in his care, picked up her skirts and hot-footed (ii) it to alert the commander.

︻┳═一

Someone was stroking her hair. Her scalp was painful but the touch was kindly meant. "Eddie?"

She opened her eyes and found herself on the examining table. His anguished face was directly above her and he was leaning on his right forearm with his hand under her back. He was employing his other hand to pluck pins out of her hair. She brought up her hand between them and placed it on his cheek.

"Eddie. Ye saved me." Her throat was on fire.

"Not soon enough."

"He was going to shoot me." Tears flooded her eyes. She started shaking again.

"I shouldn't have killed him so quickly. I should have tortured him first. If I could, I would kill him again and again in the most gruesome way possible."

"No, love."

His muscles clenched. "Marry me."

Isobel rubbed her thumb over his mouth. "If ye ask me in a month, I will accept."

"A month may be too late!"

She shook her head. "He only used his hands. There will be no child."

He glared at her. "In a month, I could be dead!"

"I dinnae think so. Ye're too stubborn tae die."

"Bella! I'm just a Poor Bloody Infantryman, going back to the stinking mud to wait for a Kraut's whizzbang to blow me apart. I could be back here in a month in one of these beds with no face and be found dead in the morning with rats gnawing my bones and you wouldn't even know! Marry me, damn it!"

She gulped and began to sing although she could scarcely breathe. " _My lonely heart prayed for someone so God gave you to me."_

"Say, yes!"

Isobel placed her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him close to whisper in his ear. "Not like this." He pushed up on his arms but she would not let him go. He collapsed onto her and she tucked her face into his neck and breathed him in. He turned his face into her hair and wound his fingers into it. Every touch was agony.

"Please say yes."

She forced herself to answer. "Ask me when you've been discharged."

He kissed her temple, her cheek, her mouth. "Say yes."

The door swung open and a British officer marched in with the matron on his heels. Edward snapped to attention, not quite hiding a resentful glare.

"Senior Nurse Swan, report."

"Yes, Colonel." She sat up on the table and swung her feet down, but nearly toppled to the floor. "Matron White asked me to go to the dispensary and count the narcotics because they were dwindling at an alarming rate."

"I asked her in front of everyone in the ward," Rosalie said with a frown, "and they were all listening because Private Masen here had been singing her a love song. The brute must have been there."

"You made notes." The colonel waved Isobel's notebook at her.

"Yes, sir. Matron was correct. Someone was altering the ledger with forged authority."

"Presumably, the man who is dead."

"He used the knock. I assumed it was Matron because I had her keys, so I let him in. He held a gun on me and demanded opium, cocaine and heroin."

"And other things. Are you injured?"

Isobel bobbed her head.

"It's my fault," Edward said. The colonel turned to scowl at him so he hurried to explain. "I took Isobel's hand in public."

The colonel turned to glare at her. "You permitted a patient under your care to take liberties?" (iii)

She lowered her eyes and blushed hotly.

"Sir, please don't blame the lady! She's been nothing but proper and—"

"That is not what I saw when I walked in, Private!"

"I asked her to marry me—"

"His conduct has been gentlemanly, Colonel," Matron interrupted.

"—but she says I'm only infatuated and I must wait to ask her until I'm no longer a patient here."

Matron White wrung her hands. "I gave permission to Private Masen to court Nurse Swan."

Seconds ticked by as Colonel Cullen glared at each individual in turn.

Matron shook her head, a crease marring her smooth forehead. "I expect they are both overwrought."

"Well," the Colonel said at last. "What shall I do with you all? I have a nurse caught in compromising behaviour who was assaulted by a traitorous Frenchie (iv), who is now lying dead in my dispensary—unable to make a confession or name his accomplices—beside a bag full of broken drug bottles. And to ice the cake, we are completely out of heroin and codeine."

Those involved wisely stayed mum. He sighed.

"Nurse Swan."

"Yes, sir?"

"You will allow the matron to examine you and treat any injuries. You are suspended from duty for two days, after which time, I will expect you to report to Matron to be assigned new patients." (v)

"Yes, sir," she whispered.

"If you ever compromise your virtue again, you shall be dismissed."

"Yes, sir."

"Matron, you will meet with senior staff to alter the secret knocks and passwords."

"Yes, sir."

"Keep a better eye on your nurses."

Matron White lowered her eyes submissively but there was fire in them. "Yes, sir."

"Private Masen, you are to be commended for your quick action. I will be writing to your commanding officer to recommend that you be promoted."

Edward's horrified gaze landed on Isobel. "That's not fair. Sir!"

"All is fair in love and war."

"But Isobel—"

"Occupies a position of trust. Knowing Nurse Swan, I will acknowledge that she has genuine feelings for you, but even so, while you were in her care, she had the responsibility to refrain from acting upon them."

Edward could not make an answer to that.

"I expect you not to do anything that will further damage Nurse Swan's reputation here. Matron? Assign him a new nurse!" Colonel Cullen stomped to the door.

"Yes, sir. Sir?"

"Yes, Matron!"

She gestured at Edward. "He's a musician, sir. He plays the piano."

Colonel Cullen rejoined them, chin down. He arched a brow and his tone softened. "You're thinking he can play for the men. Foster a bit of cheer."

"Yes, sir."

"Will you do that, Private?"

"Yes, sir. But I play only modern music, sir."

"Don't play anything too rambunctious for the men. Can you play Debussy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Matron, have the orderlies fetch down the piano."

"Where shall I have them put it?"

"Put it in the atrium at the end of the wards."

"Yes, sir."

"And play some of the songs about home, Masen, and victory." The door snapped shut behind him.

Matron White walked to the shelves and picked out a pair of pyjamas (vi) for Edward. "Go behind the screen and change."

He took the pyjamas and did as he was told.

"Lie down, Bella. We'll make this as quick as possible."

He heard her skirts shift and clenched his jaw when she whimpered. The matron sucked air through her teeth. "Bloody bastard."

"He didn't get a chance to put it in me. He did this with his fingers."

"Well, you don't need stitches but there's swelling and bruising. It has to be disinfected."

"All right." He heard her skirts swish again.

Edward pulled off the stained nightshirt without looking at it. He stepped into the pyjama bottoms and tied the strings.

"Have you any other injuries?"

Edward threw on the shirt and buttoned it at top speed.

"I think he tore my scalp." There was a pause, and then Matron hummed.

"Yes, he pulled out a chunk of your hair. It doesn't need stitching but we'll disinfect it. You'd best have a glass of whiskey."

"No."

Edward's blood boiled. "Can I go?"

"Yes," the matron said. He stormed toward the door.

"Edward!" Isobel cried, reaching for him. He stopped and sighed, marched over, took her hand and kissed the knuckles.

"I cannot stay for this, sweetheart."

"Please?"

How could he deny her? "Squeeze my hand as hard as you want."

Rosalie couldn't summon a smile. "I'll disinfect your scalp wound, first." She swabbed Bella's head with Iodin (vii) and she moaned. "Now, the other. I have to disinfect and BIPP it."

Bella squeezed Edward's hand. She was all clammy. Edward faced the head of the cot.

"What's BIPPing?"

"Bismuth iodoform paraffin paste," Rosalie said.

Bella was white to the lips. "It's what I did to you." Now he understood why it had stung. It contained iodine.

"You should let him leave," Rosalie advised.

But Bella looked so frightened and she wouldn't have backed away from him. He leaned over her and wiped her tears. "You have permission to break my jaw."

"Don't tempt me."

"You should have the whiskey."

"No."

"Kiss her, you idiot." Rosalie flipped Bella's skirts up as he whispered endearments and did just that. The moment Bella's hands snaked around his back, Rosalie applied the iodine. Edward yelped as Bella bit his lip. She bucked against his weight and he held her down, whispering useless platitudes and hugging her as tightly as he could.

Why wouldn't she just konk out? No such luck. By the time Matron set aside the Iodin, Edward had decided that nurses were made of sterner stuff than PBIs.

"Are you finished?" Bella demanded. A tear trickled out of each eye into her hair.

"With the Iodin. It's time for the BIPP."

Edward braced himself. Bella spit out an astounding variety of obscenities at top volume. Mercifully, she konked out and the matron was able to finish the treatment without further ado.

"All done. You can look now."

"Okay." He and the matron stared at each other. She passed him her handkerchief and he dabbed at his lip.

"You can go now, PBI. I'll have one of the orderlies carry her to her quarters."

"Allow me."

Matron tipped down her chin and glared at him. "If you ever come up there again you'll be shot."

"Duly noted."

"All right."

Matron slipped off Bella's remaining boot and set it with its mate, then shook out a standard army blanket over her. Edward pressed his lips together. It was wool. He helped the matron to wrap Isobel up and lifted her into his arms.

"Lead on."

Edward followed the matron up four narrow flights of stairs to the attic. He was not in the least winded, but his arms and neck were on fire. The matron stopped on the landing and called out loudly.

"It's Rosie. Everybody decent?"

"Why?" someone called.

"I've got a man here, carrying Bella. Nobody shoot him or she'll have our hides."

Footfalls rumbled and they were abruptly surrounded by at least fifty nurses wearing nightclothes. The matron pressed her palm to her forehead and exhaled loudly. "This is decent? What was I thinking, bringing him up here?"

Edward had never seen so many ankles in his life!

A tiny yeoman with a candle shivered at the front of the group. "That's not a man, that's Bella's beau."

Edward smiled sheepishly. "Thanks very much."

The girl shook herself. "Oh! I didn't mean… Hey, what's wrong with Bella?"

The matron nudged her way past him and beckoned him to follow. "She was attacked by a Frenchie who was robbing the dispensary." There were many gasps and moans. The matron gestured for silence. "The PBI killed him. We think the threat is over, but be careful, girls. Not everyone is good."

The lantern-lit attic was filled with dozens of cots, some of which were occupied. Bella's was not far from the landing. Edward took care not to bump his head on the sloped walls. He lay her down carefully on the thin bedding while the matron placed her veil and boots in her trunk. The room was Spartan. A few women sat in rocking chairs in the middle, knitting. There were no windows and no fireplace. Wet stockings and petticoats hung on lines suspended from the exposed beams. The attic was cold. Edward was pleased that Bella would have the extra blanket.

"Alice," Matron said, "I want you to keep an eye on her."

"Yes, ma'am," the little yeoman said. She hopped into the cot next to Bella's and her cheerful dark eyes met his with gratitude. Edward took a last look at his sweetheart and padded out to the landing. He turned to smile at the matron.

"Rosie, eh?"

She held out her hand and he clasped it. "Only to my friends, Edward."

"Eddie."

"Thank you for saving my friend today, Eddie."

"I wish I had arrived sooner."

"You arrived soon enough."

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

i **Poilu** : "Hairy" (French). A flattering nickname for French soldiers based on a group of manly heroes from a fairy tale. The French didn't often call themselves _Poilu_ , they preferred _Bonhommes_ (Good Men). However, the other Allied soldiers called them _Poilu_.

ii **Hot-footed it** : moved with haste. Based on an old prank wherein someone would light a match between a victim's toes or between the heel and sole of his shoe. By the 1930s it became a tradition amongst baseball players. It died out for a while but now some bright bulb in the Majors is trying to popularize it again. Don't these guys get paid enough? Setting some player's foot on fire sounds just brilliant.

iii I know, I know. This is just how it was. Men and women who were not formally courting were not supposed to show any affection through touch, and once engaged, the man might be permitted to steal a kiss. Certainly, any man who respected a woman would not touch her in a familiar manner outside marriage, especially in front of anyone else. And then, after marriage, they would touch or kiss mostly in private. The customary chaperoning of courtships did not begin to fade until after the war. The average courtship lasted three months—beginning the day the couple met and ending with a wedding. Any girl who would allow a beau to make advances was considered to be of low character. Of course, the women—who were supposed to be capable of self-control—were blamed for impropriety because men were driven by lust and not able to rule their passions. Good girls were still seen as dispassionate creatures that didn't like sex, although by Edwardian times, young men's fathers often presented them with books about how to please a wife (keeping in mind that many experts of the day thought the best way to please a wife was to expel all one's passions on a mistress and leave the poor wife unencumbered with such wicked behaviour).

iv **Frenchie** : insulting nickname for French soldiers, with connotations of dislike.

v The Colonel would actually see this as protecting Isobel, not punishing her.

vi **Pyjamas** got their name from the East Indian _payjama_ (loose harem pants). By 1870, they were popular in the West and quickly replaced nightshirts as men's preferred sleepwear. They were also used for lounging at home. Pyjamas weren't popular among women until Coco Chanel began wearing them. By the 1930s, they were a staple item in male attire.

vii **Iodin** \- a powerful counter-irritant, disinfectant, and parasiticide containing Iodine.


	4. Chapter 4

︻┳═一

God bless the people of Brussels. _Nous vous souviendrons._

︻┳═一

Chapter Four

︻┳═一

Three mornings after she was assaulted, Isobel held up her bruised chin and limped down the stairs, clinging to the railing. Although the swelling of her feminine parts had gone down substantially, the pain was unlike anything she'd ever known. Additionally, dark, angry bruises had cropped up on her thighs, hips, ribs, wrists, forehead and skull. Her knuckles and knees were scraped and the spot where her hair had been pulled out burned. Pain made it difficult to sleep. At times, she had hidden under the blanket that smelled faintly like her sweetheart and had given in to tears. At others, she hugged her knees and raged, inwardly cursing the bastard who had stolen what ought to have belonged to—

Using Alice as his delivery girl, _He_ had sent her a beautiful get well note and a bar of Caley's Chocolate (i)—both designed to be savoured. Isobel had offered to cut up the chocolate and share it with her friends, but they all said they could see she was suffering and that eating it would make her feel better. All the girls had been most kind. Isobel had not lacked for books, hot water bottles, snacks or meals, and Alice was a cheerful companion who knew when to talk and when to give her space.

On the second floor, Isobel picked strands of music out of the air. _He_ was playing _Claire de lune_.

The Colonel had said _He_ was no longer her patient. Although she told herself to walk past the atrium and go to read the duty roster, her feet would not obey. Glorious sound filled the space. Despite the early hour, many ambulatory men were inside, listening in silence and having a smoke. One man, in one of their few wheelchairs, had broken down. An Irishman called Newton was sitting with him, helping him enjoy a cigarette, for while Newton had one hand, the other man had none.

Isobel stood behind her gifted soldier and listened to the heavenly music he coaxed from the sinful grand piano. His good looks and artistic ability were ridiculously at odds with the ugly instrument's pornographic cartoon lovers, not to mention that it was pink and it clashed with his hair. However, Isobel did have to wonder if the actions of the characters pictured on the lid and sides were anything close to accurate. She smothered her curiosity. It was unlikely that she would ever find out.

Eddie was dressed in the summer uniform shirt and britches. His shoulders were going to be broad when… The backs of his hands were covered in new sores. How did that happen? She bit her tongue against a rebuke and waited on his attention until the last notes shimmered away into air.

"My winter uniform seems to be missing," he said without turning.

"I have it. I've sewn in a cotton lining. It's just a pair of pyjamas, but—"

He turned slowly on his stool, took both her hands and pressed his lips to her sore knuckles. She was appalled. Had they not just been reproved for forward behaviour?

"Eddie?" she breathed. He raised his face to look at her. His eyes were glassy and red. When he saw her fat lip, puffy eyes and purpled countenance, he winced, then shut his eyes and shook his head with a faint smile. He stood, still keeping hold of her hands.

"Walk with me, my beauty."

Her heart leaped into her throat. "I maun see to my duties." Please, God, the Colonel wouldn't see them breaking the rules again!

Edward tucked her hand under his arm. "Isobel, you have no duties today."

"Haff I been dismissed?" she squeaked as they strolled out of the atrium.

"No, darling. They've found me out."

"About the allergy?"

"About all of it." He opened the door to the storeroom that housed the tub, took her in and pressed her hands to his chest. It felt warm and solid.

"They found out about yer age?"

"Everything."

"Are ye going to Blighty?" Although she knew he would hate it, her heart soared.

"No, darling. They're turning a blind eye. Cap says I'm too valuable."

"What does that mean?"

"It means… our friend Rosie's attempt to keep me here longer has failed. I got these welts for nothing."

"I dinnae understand."

He showed her his blistered hands with a wry smile. "At first, I couldn't understand why she had me wrap you in a woollen blanket and carry you to your bed. She knew about my allergy. But she's very canny. It was a good way to ensure that I'd still be here when you returned to duty."

"I'm glad ye're here." Isobel leaned in slowly and set her ear against his chest, wishing to experience his strength again. Better to be hung as a sheep than a lamb. Eddie wrapped his arms around her and for the first time in days, she felt safe. He touched his lips to the bump on her forehead and then rested his chin on her head.

"I'm glad, too."

"Will ye write to me?"

"Every chance I get. Will you write back?"

"Every single day."

"Promise?"

The door creaked open and Rosie poked her head in, looking harried. "Are you done yet?"

"No," Edward said a tad irritably.

"Hurry up!" she hissed, eyes flashing. "They're waiting for you!"

"Okay, give us a few minutes."

Rosie flicked her skirts away from the door and firmly shut herself out.

"Maun ye leave me sae soon?" Isobel felt her throat close up. She snaked her arms around his back and grasped onto his belt.

"They can wait a bit longer. I'm sorry… I haven't told you everything."

"Tell me now."

"I'm not Canadian. I'm from Newfoundland." (ii)

"You're…"

"I wanted to go to the university to learn music and then be in an orchestra. My father owns a copper mine with a bit of gold in it. He took me down daily to show it off. It's dank, filthy and oppressive. The men cough. He kept talking about me taking over but he intended for me to work in it first. Learn the industry. It's not much different to the trenches, in some respects. Only the trenches are better because they're not closed in."

"Oh."

"Two years ago, I stowed away on a ship and came down the St. Lawrence River to Ontario. Worked my way to Toronto and told everyone I was sixteen when I was actually fourteen. I've always been tall for my age. I played the organ during the moving pictures, and then I got into vaudeville."

"How did you get here?"

"There wasn't enough money. A recruiter said I could earn three times what I was making with my music, see Europe and serve my country, and get my food and shelter on the regular. So I made an alteration here and there to my history and threw in."

Bella blanched. "Will ye be court-marshalled?"

His mouth twisted in a rueful grin. "Hardly. Men join foreign armies all the time. Since I dispatched that Frenchie so neatly and I understand rocks and soil, they've decided I'd make a good sapper. (iii) The Brass had a wonderful argument yesterday over whom I'd be sapping for: Canada, Newfoundland or Britain."

"And?"

"It's nice to feel wanted."

"Edward."

"I'm shipping out today to Egypt."

"But… that's..."

He kissed her on each cheek. "Although I am sorry you put in so much effort—which I appreciate with all my heart—I'm sure you'll be glad to hear I will not have to wear the army's winter wool again. Two weeks to adjust to the heat, then I'm off to lay landmines for the Newfoundlanders in Gallipoli (iv)."

Isobel felt the blood drain from her face. "No!"

"They want me in the Dardanelles (v), Bella. I have… special skills. They're undermanned and the commanders are green."

Because so many men had died! "We're losing there! The country's screaming at Asquith (vi) to resign and they want Hamilton's (vii) head!"

"I'll be all right."

"Ye can't!"

"I have no choice. It's an order."

"But it's so far away! And bombs? The casualties…"

"Please don't waste precious time arguing with me, Bella."

"But…"

"Do you know there are girls marrying soldiers they've never met?"

She shook her head. "Eddie." How could he possibly want to marry her? She might never be a proper wife.

"Only through letters. You know me, Bella. You know everything that matters. If you marry me, I'll know you want me to come back. I'll know you're waiting and praying and—"

The door flew open again. "You're taking forever!" Rosie flapped her hands. "They're going to declare you absent without leave, soon!"

"Okay, okay!"

Pressing her lips together, she left again.

Isobel's mind raced. "Where would we live?"

"Toronto. Scotland. London, I don't care. Wherever you want."

"Canada?"

"It's vast. Much larger than any country you've ever seen. And every part I've visited is lovely."

She longed to see it, but that would be so far from her mam. "We'll decide later."

"Darling?" He stooped slightly to meet her gaze.

"Yes."

His face lit up. "Yes?"

"I will marry you."

Eddie framed her face in his hands and kissed her lightly. "Thank you." He grabbed her hand and tugged her out of the room. Isobel was tall but she had to practically run to keep up with him. When he realized she was struggling, he simply picked her up and ran with her—all the way up to the offices on the third floor, where he set Isobel down and rapped smartly on Colonel Cullen's door. Isobel was panting and Eddie wasn't even winded.

"Lose the wimple," he said.

The door opened immediately. Inside, Rosalie met them, eyes aglow. Several of Bella's friends were inside. They cheered and clapped.

"I'm not getting married in my uniform," Bella hissed at her intended, plucking pins out of her cap.

"Oh, yes you are!" Edward held out his hand to the hospital chaplain. "Hello, I'm Edward Masen and this is my fiancée, Isobel Swan."

" _Enchanté,_ " the chaplain said. "Come in, my dears."

Rosalie tugged off Isobel's Dora cap (viii) and combed out her braids, and Isobel untied her apron and took it off. Five minutes later, she was a married woman. Ten minutes later, Edward was gone.

︻┳═一

The atrium was empty and dim. Isobel was still out of uniform. She wandered in and perched gingerly on the stool that Anthony Edward Masen had occupied fourteen hours before. She set her head on her arm and tried not to weep. He would be back. She touched a key and picked out a few, stumbling notes of their song.

" _For every heart there is gladness when eyes are wet with tears. For every care there's an answer from One who always hears;_

" _The trees prayed for the springtime so God gave the spring to each tree. My lonely heart prayed for someone so God gave you to me."_

A man cleared his throat gently and she jumped.

"I'm sorry I startled you, miss."

"Oh." Isobel wiped her eyes. "It's all right. I should have noticed you there." It was the man with no hands who'd wept as Edward played.

"Do you play?" he asked.

"No. I wish I did. My husband… plays like an angel."

"Was that him this morning?"

"Yes."

"Would you care to learn?"

Her heart lifted. "Can ye teach me?"

"I'll do my best but you'll have to roll me up to the keyboard."

"It's a deal!"

He held up his bandaged stump and she 'shook' it gingerly. "Tolliver Wilberforce. My friends call me Tully."

"Isobel S—Masen. My friends call me Bella."

"Splendid, Bella. Now, that key, there, is Middle C…"

︻┳═一

October the 18th was a horrid day.

Battle lines in Flanders were constantly being redrawn, and ground gained and lost. The location of the salient never seemed to change dramatically. Casualties flooded the Number Five Hospital (ix) from the three battles that had recently occurred around Ypres, and meanwhile, the Huns began an offensive against Artois. The allies had defeated them in Loos in September, but the Artois conflicts were a draw. Field Dressing Stations and Casualty Clearing Stations overflowed and on the eighteenth, transferred men poured into the chateau; it was the closest evacuation hospital to the coast, from Ypres.

The Number Five's thirty-five doctors, seventy-five QAIMNS and 200 Yeomen of the British Red Cross (x) worked nonstop, with only brief naps to sustain them, while trains, horse carts and ambulances delivered endless queues of horribly injured men. The orderlies placed two officers to a bed, enlisted men lay on pallets on the floors, and mobile men sat wherever they could find a spot—often outside the building. Other, treated men were piled outside to await their evacuation trains to Blighty. And that day, the hospital employees got word that the Huns had managed to establish a route between Germany and the Ottoman Empire, right smack dab in the middle of the Dardanelles. The allied trenches were quickly flattened by the German heavy artillery. Isobel could only hope that Edward was still en route to Gallipoli from Egypt, and not in the trenches.

At the first of November she received the first packet of letters, closed her eyes and thanked God. The last one contained paper money, which she hid inside her corset.

"Won't you read one of Eddie's letters to us, Bella?" Alice pleaded. Many of the women in the attic echoed her wish.

"Well, all right." She pulled one of her favourites out of its envelope. He was a good writer. Although he couldn't tell her much about his duties, each letter covered both sides of the page, and then he'd turn the page and write across its length. She soon adjusted to his penmanship, which was at times dashed down in haste and at others loopy with fatigue.

" _Darling Bella,_

 _I pray that you are well. I wish that I could show you the wonders of Egypt. We saw the Pyramids. The air is almost too hot to bear, and scented with fragrant herbs. The sky looks vast, particularly when the stars are out. There aren't many trees, just hills of sand everywhere. I am a Newfoundland lobster, steamed in the sun. My friend, Lefty, who is a second lieutenant if you please, is also a ginger and was much paler than I when we arrived. We joshed that it's a dirty trick for The Brass to play, ordering those of us who blister and peel to remain outside all day doing drills._

 _On the upside, there's always clean water to drink, and a lot of the time, The Brass doesn't care about our uniforms, so when it's blasted hotter than the devil's backside, they let us run around not wearing much more than our skins and our boots. Smart men do not expose their personal business to the sun. We were warned, but some refused to listen. One of them is a guy in my unit we call Dildo (xi), who seemingly cannot follow an order to save his life. He couldn't sit down for days. Before you ask, it's all men here most of the time, and we all need washing. Cigarettes are gold here. However, the camp's dry and they issued us new linen and socks, so I won't complain._

 _There_ _is_ _a small group of QAIMNS here that occasionally ride in to look after anyone who needs care. Would you believe, t_ _hey_ _ri_ _de_ _camels! (xii)_ _Ask Rosie if she wants to give it a go."_

Bella and her audience looked expectantly at Rosie.

"Actually," she said, "I would risk the camel ride if it meant I could be warm. And I wouldn't mind seeing some fit, scantily-clad men, either."

The nurses laughed, chattered, nodded and voiced their agreement.

"Go on, Bella," Rosie nodded, "read us more." The nurses shushed each other.

Bella held up the letter. " _There are a lot of camels and they're at once comical and vile. They spit, bite and kick—usually right after fluttering their beautiful eyelashes at you. They lure you in just like a rabid cat might. Mash calls one his cheating spouse. That's paraphrased, by the way. I can't tell you what he a_ _ctually_ _says._

 _There's a Sikh regiment here, too. It's fascinating. The men wear turbans and ceremonial daggers. Some of them fight with two swords. I saw one get his turban knocked off once and he had hair as long as yours. Most of them have beards. Their cavalry is stupendous. I've never seen such fine horses. The white ones are called Arabians and the black ones Fresians. We don't get to talk to the Sikhs, they bunk in different areas from us, but I love to watch them train. In case it interests you, their women (who do not come here but we've seen them in the towns) wear smaller turbans, a long loose shirt, harem pants and sometimes a scarf. They don't wear corsets, or so I've been told. Our major said his wife came here once and attempted to keep her traditional style of dress. She got heat stroke and nearly died._

 _There are two things I could do without here, the food and the bugs. And the bugs in the food. The bugs are huge. The food is positively horrible. We're hungry enough that we eat it anyway, but one either loves it or hates it. There's very little meat. One of our staple foods is called Kushari. We get a big bowl containing r_ _ice, lentils, spaghetti, tiny pasta rings, hummus, caramelized onions, and thick tomato sauce. You're meant to add oil and vinegar, and hot sauce that makes Major Generals cry. Who on earth would put those things together? And I promise you, c_ _hlorine_ _gas is not the kind one must worry about here. Beans, rice and more beans. If we do get meat, it's mutton. I am actually starting to miss the Bully Beef._

 _The Royal Newfoundlanders' mascot is a black dog the size of a bear. He bays like a mastiff and jumps up to greet a man, and that poor sap finds himself flat on his back under paws the size of dinner plates. He is a lovely dog but I wouldn't like to be the man who cleans up after him. Still, I expect him to serve very well when he carries supplies through the trenches for us. He's got a fancy name but we just call him Pal." (xiii)_

"Do go on, Bella," Alice urged.

The pages were full of endearments and anxiety for her welfare. She kept her promise and wrote him daily, although she didn't know if he'd receive her messages.

She prayed for more letters for weeks.

Then, the rains came at the end of November and flooded trenches in the Sulva. An unexpected cold snap followed. Those who did not drown in the flood fell victim to the cold, frostbite, and gangrene. The allied troops began to evacuate the Dardanelles, moving northwest.

On the 23rd of December, 1915, Isobel was summoned by Colonel Cullen to his office. He waved a letter at her casually.

"You must forgive me, Nurse, for keeping a secret, but I got my orders from your sapper."

"Oh?" Her eyes were glued to the paper.

"Yes. This arrived for me yesterday in the mail packet, along with some money."

She wrung her hands. She didn't want the money, just the letter.

"I hope you like your Christmas gifts. There are two." Colonel Cullen tipped the envelope awkwardly and held out something small.

"A wedding ring!" Isobel put on the gold band and admired it. Several small diamonds were embedded to each side of a central true lovers' knot. (xiv)

"Yes. He sent it with the letter. Just fancy how far it's travelled. And this is your other gift." Colonel Cullen gestured at a hatbox on the floor. It was white with a large red ribbon on top. "Go on, open it. Took quite a bit of finesse to procure it."

Isobel reached down to pick up the box but it was unexpectedly heavy. She tipped up the lid and a scruffy little white dog burst out of it with a yap. It looked something like a West Highland terrier, but the shape of its head was too slender and its legs were too long.

"Ohh… what kind is it?" She picked up the dog and it licked her madly.

"Mostly white terrier, at least, that's what the man I sent to buy it told me. Lieutenant Masen said whatever I chose must be a good ratter."

Wait. "He's been promoted again?"

"Second lieutenant. I knew he'd do us proud."

The dog continued to lick Isobel's face. "Oh, these are the best presents I've ever had!"

Colonel Cullen looked at her slyly. "You don't want these, then?" He produced a bundle of dirt-stained letters tied together with twine.

Isobel snatched them and burst into happy tears.

︻┳═一

At night, the dog—christened Private Barker—customarily curled up with Isobel on her cot and she'd pat its coarse-haired head until she fell asleep. During the day, it ran madly around the wards, visiting the delighted men and presenting dead trench rabbits to the nurses, who learned to hide their revulsion and praise it.

Edward didn't write as often. He said the fighting in Gallipoli was fierce and he could only catch a minute here and there, but he was fine and longed to come home to her kisses.

Periodically, throughout the winter and spring, Isobel would have a piano lesson from Tully, who was a fantastic teacher. By June, she could play nearly as well as Edward.

"I hope he's surprised," she told Tully.

"He will be delighted, my dear." Soon after, Tully was sent to Blighty. For a while, her days were dull, but occasionally her mam or her auntie would send a sheet of music in the mail and Isobel would teach it to the nurses and the patients.

Isobel hoped to see Edward soon. The Newfoundlanders badly needed leave. They had been fighting for seven months and although enlisted men occasionally got breaks, officers were reluctant to take leave from their men and thereby offend their superiors. (xv)

Judging by the rumours floating around the hospital, being an officer was hard. Many men succumbed to an illness called shell shock and nobody knew what caused it. Officers had to keep the shell shock from spreading to the other men in their units. The symptoms included terror, uncontrollable shaking, and an inability to walk properly. Some men, although they exhibited no sign of injury, became blind, deaf or mute. The Brass claimed the thousands of sufferers were cowardly malingerers—faking illness in order to get sent home—but that didn't explain why so many decorated officers became afflicted.

Isobel was practicing the Debussy, while the mobile Canadian patients noisily celebrated their Dominion Day, when the Colonel came to stand beside her. "Isobel."

"Yes, sir?"

"It's the Newfoundlanders."

Her heart seized.

"They've … lost Beaumont-Hamel. (xvi) Nearly the entire regiment fell."

The keyboard protested stridently when she clutched it. "No! He's not dead!"

"He's missing. There are only a few known survivors. They're going to Blighty."

"I must go!" She shot to her feet and whistled for Private Barker.

"You should stay here until we know," Colonel Cullen called.

"No, I'm going home!" For the first time in her adult life, she abandoned her decorum, picked up her skirts, and ran.

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i **Caley's Chocolate** provided candy bars for those in the UK's military service, wrapped in patriotic wrappers.

ii **Newfoundland and Labrador** was first a colony and then a dominion of Great Britain until 1949.

iii **Sapper** : from the French _sape_ (undermine) and the French _sap_ (a spade or hoe). A _sapper_ , also called a pioneer or combat engineer, is a combatant or soldier who performs a variety of military engineering duties such as bridge-building, laying or clearing minefields, demolitions, field defences and general construction, as well as road and airfield construction and repair. Male, entry-level military personnel (such as privates, troopers, gunners, sappers, and drivers) received wages of approximately two shillings per day. There were 20 shillings in a pound, and 12 pennies to a shilling, so entry-level men earned £35, 9 shillings per annum.

iv The **Gallipoli** Peninsula is located in the European part of Turkey. The Aegean Sea is to the west and the Dardanelles straight is to the east.

v **The Dardanelles** Straight is an internationally key, narrow waterway between Europe and Asia, located between Asian Turkey and European Turkey. It connects the Sea of Marmara with the Aegean and Mediterranean Seas, while also allowing passage to the Black Sea via the Bosphorus.

vi **Herbert Asquith** : The Prime Minister of Britain was well-liked before the war and served two terms altogether. As a Liberal, he instigated a lot of social welfare programs and rearmed the British Navy before wartime. However, he did not prove a successful wartime commander and David Lloyd George undermined his rule and replaced him as Prime Minister in December, 1916.

vii **Sir Ian Hamilton** was Commander in Chief of the Gallipoli Campaign, in charge of 75, 000 men. He spent six fruitless months using the British fleet to bomb the Turks at Gallipoli, making little progress but incurring severe casualties. He remained optimistic that his plan would succeed, to the point of opposing Cabinet moves in London to initiate an evacuation. Made a scapegoat for the failure of the plan (despite being hopelessly undermanned and having faced formidable logistical difficulties), Hamilton was recalled to London on 16 October 1915, effectively ending his military career.

viii **Sister Dora cap** : the wimple-like veil worn by nurses.

ix Details about this **Number Five Base Hospital** are a product of my imagination. Base Hospitals were generally stationary, although many did move every few years. In September, 1915, there were several Number Five Hospitals (attached to specific armies or designed for general Allied use). For example, there was a General one in Rouen and there were British ones in Dieppe and Abeville. So, as you see, soldiers requiring treatment at a Base were transported from the Front in Belgium to France across great distances. Although there were trains (and sometimes barges) from Casualty Clearing Stations to Base Hospitals, men might reach the CCS by walking, horseback, horse-drawn ambulance, truck, bus, or sometimes even by a volunteer civilian's car. It must have been gruesome to get to a hospital. Near the end of the war, a hospital was established much closer to Ypres, in Dunkirk.

x The **Staff at a Base Hospital** (serving approximately 400-1200 patients) was normally comprised of 35 Licensed Medical Doctors, 75 QAIMNS, and a trained staff of Red Cross Yeomen of between 200 and 300 persons (both male and female). There were many, much smaller Base Hospitals, too, many of which were large houses volunteered by local residents.

xi **Dildo** : a useless object. Trench slang for a person who is of no use.

xii Check out my album on Facebook to see the photograph of the nurses on their camels.

xiii I altered this for artistic purposes. The Royal Newfoundlanders did have a famous Newfoundland Dog, christened **Sable Chief** , but not until 1917. Many regiments kept mascots, including goats and sheep. Messenger dogs were widely used. A good messenger dog could scoot across a couple of miles, leaping over three lines of trenches, in about four minutes. They were usually small enough to avoid being shot, unlike human messengers.

xiv **Love knot rings and other jewellery** , once known as **true lovers' knots** , go back to antiquity and are attributed to seafaring sailors, who created interlocking pairs of rings out of gold wire to give to their wives. The rings could move independently of each other, but could never be separated. There are several styles of knot, but all of them symbolize friendship, affection, and love.

xv Officers were entitled to take leave but the upper Brass viewed it as dereliction of duty. Some of the officers grew so frazzled by the lack of rest that they ended up with **Neurasthenia** (a kind of shell shock to which leaders were prone).

xvi **The Royal Newfoundland Regiment,** which started out with a thousand men, was virtually wiped out at **Beaumont-Hamel** on July 1st, 1916, the first day of the **Battle of the Somme**. Since then, July 1st has been marked as Memorial Day in Newfoundland and Labrador. Although Canada signed the peace accord at the end of the war (independent of Britain), Newfoundland did not become the 10th province of the Confederation of Canada until March 31st, 1949. Canada has celebrated its nationhood every July 1st since 1867. July 1st used to be called Dominion Day. Now it's called Canada Day.


	5. Chapter 5

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Nurse Jessy Stanley's patient awoke with a gasp. He stiffened, felt the bandages covering his eyes, realized his right hand was wrapped in a padded bandage, and grimaced. Hopefully, he would be able to tell her who he was, since his identification was missing. Chances were, he wouldn't know—thanks to the concussion. All Jessy knew was that he was luckier than almost any other son of Newfoundland (i).

"Hello, Lieutenant," she said brightly. He did not react. Hopefully, when the ringing in his ears subsided, he would hear again. She gently took his good hand and he snatched it back.

"Lieutenant First Class, Edward Masen of the Blue Puttees (ii)!" he barked. Jessy brought his hand up to rest on her face and nodded.

"Yes, dear. We'll put your name on the list straightaway. Someone will be praying for news of you."

He didn't hear. "Am I in the hospital?"

"Yes. Don't shout." She tapped a finger against his lips, then, nodded.

"I can't hear you," he murmured.

Jessy shook her head against his hand, then stood up.

"Oh, God, oh, God, don't leave." He reached out in every direction. "Where are you? I have questions! My men! Are they here? Please!"

Jessy fetched a water glass from the nearest table, filled it, and held the tip of a straw (iii) to his lips. The officer drank thirstily. She had to take the drink away so he wouldn't vomit it straight back up. His nurses would have seen to it that he obtained enough water to survive, but he was still woefully lacking moisture.

"Am I in Blighty?" he whispered, reaching out hesitantly toward her face.

She placed his clammy palm against her cheek and nodded.

"Am I blind?"

She shook her head, even though they didn't know.

He blew out his breath. "My wife! Senior Nurse Isobel Masen of Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service, at General Base Hospital Number Five."

By the time their telegram reached Colonel Cullen, Isobel had gone. He notified the Queen Alexandra Reserve Office in Brighton.

︻┳═一

 **July 24** **th** **, 1916**

Isobel entered the Number Six Hospital in Brighton on aching feet. It was her tenth day of fruitless searching. She walked smartly up to the desk and Private Barker left her side to scamper into the wards.

The volunteer at the desk flapped her arms. "Hey! Your dog—"

"Let him go. He kills rats."

"Oh. How may I help you, Nurse?"

Isobel was wearing her straw hat with her uniform. "I'm looking for my husband, Lieutenant Anthony Edward Masen, with the Newfoundlanders."

The receptionist's jaw dropped. "The _Royal_ Newfoundlanders?"

"Yes." For King Edward had decreed the Newfoundlanders to be one of his regiments, directly after most of its men fell at Beaumont-Hamel. The bravest and best of men, the Newfoundlanders had faced certain death and followed orders anyway. Tears pricked Isobel's eyes. So many Allied men died in one day, just because the Brass wouldn't change the order. Seventy-five thousand men, senselessly exterminated before lunchtime at Beaumont-Hamel.

The nurse rang a bell energetically, grinning madly and staring at Isobel as though she were Queen Alexandra herself, come to tea. A male yeoman appeared. "Will you ask Jessy Stanley to come posthaste (iv), please?"

"Yes, miss." The yeoman hurried off and promptly returned with a beaming, grey-caped Reserve nurse.

"Bella?"

Isobel covered her mouth and sobbed. "He's here." She bowed her head and locked her knees so she wouldn't fall. The pretty nurse grasped Bella's arms and gave a little hop. She hugged Isobel warmly.

"He came on the H.M.H.S. Saint David (v) four days ago. He was in a coma and carried no identification. Of course, we knew his rank and that he was a Blue Puttee, but they strip the casualties of their belongings at the trench so they're lighter to carry and he lost his records."

"I know."

"Knocked me sideways when he woke up and asked for you."

"He asked for me?"

"Clear as a bell. 'Isobel Masen, Senior Nurse at Base Hospital Five.' Every time he wakes, he asks me to write you a letter." Isobel's forehead creased and Jessy patted her arm. "He lost the first joint of his right thumb. We think he threw his hand up in front of his face and turned to his right. He was thrown by a bomb. Missed the worst of it, by the looks of him. We aren't sure yet how good his sight or hearing will be. The internal bleeding has stopped but he's concussed."

Edward might be deaf and blind. "He's a musician," Isobel said dully.

"Let's pray he gets his hearing back, then. He's young and strong. His feet are fine; it doesn't appear he's had frostbite, although he has some sort of nasty allergic rash."

"He's allergic tae wool."

"Heavens! We wondered why he wore that uniform, all lined with cotton. It would have given him an extra layer of protection against the cold. And evidently your man knows to keep his tinder dry, although Heaven only knows how he managed it."

"Can I see him?"

"You won't cry?"

"I dinnae ken." Wasn't she weeping already? What a ridiculous question!

"Make him feel wanted, right?"

"Of course." Isobel whistled for the dog.

︻┳═一

She found him sitting up in a wooden chair in the parlour, by a sunny window, wearing hospital blues. In profile, he looked completely normal. The dog ran straight past the other men in the room, some of whom reached out and called to it desperately. But the dog put its paws on Eddie's leg, yapped, growled, danced on its back legs, and wagged its tail with a doggy grin. A lump clogged Isobel's throat.

"Ye've chosen yer master, have ye no, Private Barker?"

Eddie's brow wrinkled. He reached down, stroked Private Barker's coarse head and grinned.

"Aww…Hey, buddy. Where did you come from, eh?" He ruffled the dog's ears with a hand covered in nicks and welts. "Want to play? Got a ball? A stick, maybe?" Cut marks in a spray pattern and greenish bruises covered the entire left side of Eddie's face. He was clean-shaven. His eyes were swollen and bloody. He looked as though someone had thrown him down a flight of stairs onto a stone floor covered in shattered glass.

Isobel stood against his knees. He blinked.

"Bella?" He peered at her and put his hand back on Private Barker's head. "Are you my Bella?" She nodded energetically but he groaned and leaned back against the chair. "I'm dreaming. Bella's in The Wipers."

She brushed her fingers over his bicep, stepped behind him and played _Claire de lune_ on his shoulders. During the second section, he gasped, spun and framed her face in his hands.

"Bella!" He took her hand, felt frantically for her wedding ring, and kissed it, long and firmly. "You're really here," he said against her knuckles. He stood, placed one hand on her forehead and the other on her cheek, and ran his thumb over her mouth. She nodded, wept, and kissed it. He began to embrace her but stopped. There were other men in the room.

Isobel couldn't give a good g-damn who was watching. She half-climbed him and kissed the underside of his chin, his jaw and his neck—the only places she could reach. Eddie swept her up and carefully sat down again with her on his knees.

"Bella…"

She kissed him firmly, again and again.

"Mrs. Masen," he whispered, his eyes mere inches from her own. Sunlight poured in through the open curtains behind him.

Isobel realized abruptly that Edward was looking at her. She clasped him around the neck and pulled herself nose-to-nose. "Can ye see me, Eddie?"

He answered as though he could actually hear her. Perhaps he could read her lips. "Yes, when you're this close, I can see you, beautiful girl. But it would help if you'd take off the damned hat."

Laughing, she pulled out her two hat pins. As she removed the hat, half her hair tumbled down. Pinning her pins into the crown of her hat, she set it on her lap and shook out her hair. Eddie nuzzled his face into it.

"Lucky bastard," one of the other men said.

"You're a sight for sore eyes." Eddie tried to wink but his eyes were too swollen.

She kissed his brow above each eye. They were kissing in earnest when a harsh male voice made Isobel jump out of her skin. "What is the meaning of this!" She pulled back with a guilty start to discover a stout British major scowling at her.

"Sorry!" She hid a giggle behind her fingers.

"You're dismissed!"

She threw back her head and laughed. "That'll be a trick since I dinnae work here, sir."

"Cheeky! Have you no decorum?"

Eddie placed his lips near her ear and whispered, "What's going on?"

Isobel wiped the tears from her cheeks, patted Eddie and beamed at the major. "Not today, sir! I haff found my dear husband who has been missing since Beaumont-Hamel."

His irritation shifted into intensity. "Beaumont-Hamel?"

"Aye! He is a Royal Newfoundlander of the Blue Puttees and he also fought at the Suvla, St. Julien and the Ypres Salient."

"Cor, blimey!"vi one of the men moaned.

"A Blue Puttee?" another man asked.

Isobel peeked around Eddie to answer him. "Yes. One of the first five hundred."

The four patients in the room stared and whispered to each other, but Isobel only had eyes for Eddie.

The major cleared his throat. "Men, what say we give this young hero and his wife a few minutes of privacy?"

Although the men plainly didn't want to go, they slowly filtered out. The major waved vaguely at Isobel and Eddie. "Carry on."

"Thank ye, sir!"

He cleared his throat. "Erm, yes."

Isobel placed a fingertip on Eddie's chin and tipped his face toward her. Her hat slid off her lap and tumbled to the floor, where Private Barker snatched it up and gave it a good worry.

The dog had its fun, for nobody cared about the hat, least of all Isobel.

After much kissing and cooing, Eddie drew back. His intense expression softened and he swallowed hard, returning his palm to her cheek. "Can you really play the Debussy?"

She nodded again. He steered her over to the room's large upright piano. She sat on the stool while Private Barker yapped and scampered around their feet, doing his best to get somebody to throw the now-ruined hat.

Bella played and patients and nurses were drawn back into the room by the music. Edward rested his head on the piano. He began to laugh and tears brightened his eyes.

"I can hear it! Say you still love me."

She embraced him in front of everyone, kissed his brow, his cheeks and his mouth. He placed his hand on her face. She nodded. "I do. _My lonely heart prayed for someone so God gave you to me."_

Eddie hugged her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. She turned her face into his neck, basked in his scent, and stroked his hair.

"Bella. _Bella_ , I have missed you so badly. Promise me… Don't ever let me go."

"Dinnae worry, Eddie. Ye'll never be rid of me, now."

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 _Stay tuned for more, next week. Thank you for reading and reviewing. Xoox j_

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i **Newfoundland** : While I think of it, let's check pronunciation, shall we? New- _fun_ -land, not New-FOUND-lan.

ii **The Blue Puttees** : When Newfoundland first pledged to help Great Britain in the War, the Dominion of Newfoundland didn't have an army. They very quickly raised one. The 500 men received six weeks of training from men who were hobby enthusiasts—lovers of shooting and sword sport. There was enough fabric available to make the First Newfoundland Regiment's uniforms, however, there was not enough to make hats or matching puttees. So, the Newfoundlanders shipped overseas wearing civilian hats of all types, and blue puttees (the correct fabric but the wrong colour). They went to Egypt, were given proper headgear, received six more weeks of professional military training, then shipped to the Suvla. By the time they reached the Dardanelles, 500 more brave boys of Newfoundland had joined their ranks, but all of them had the customary olive green puttees. The first 500 had distinguished themselves so well that they refused to stop wearing the blue puttees, which became a permanent mark of distinction and a badge of honour.

iii The first known **drinking straws** were used by the Sumerians in 3000BC. In the 1800s, people got into the habit of using a piece of rye grass to imbibe their drinks, but it tended to melt in liquid and leave an unpleasant grassy flavour. Frustrated, Marvin C. Stone invented and patented the modern paper drinking straw (which was coated in wax) in 1888.

iv **Posthaste:** as quickly as possible. The term came into use because mail coaches brought the post so quickly.

v **The HMHS St. David** was a real British hospital ship that ran between the Western Front and Blighty. If you visit my UE Series Facebook page, I have pictures of it.

vi **Cor blimey** : Cockney slang. A corruption of the oath, "God blind me."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 2:

︻┳═一

August 16th, 1916

︻┳═一

"If tis nae a trouble, I will continue tae pay ye weekly." Isobel passed six shillings (i) into the hand of her landlady, Charlotte Biggins, who'd already demonstrated a willingness to share lots of marital advice, most of which was rather daunting. The matronly lady wore her grizzled hair in sausage curls around her black bonnet. She could be chipper, but tended toward an anxious disposition, and when fretting, her round cheeks would give a little quiver. They were quivering now.

"How is your man?" she asked in her deep, raspy voice.

Isobel found herself smiling. "He's such a patient soul. He cannae yet hear or see verra much but he has a strong belief that he will get better."

"It is good that he has faith."

"Oh, yes."

"When will he come here?"

"I dinnae ken, but I fear the hospitals will soon be badly overcrowded and they'll be wanting his bed."

"It is bad in the Somme (ii)."

"Yes." Isobel drifted quietly to the front door and put on her new straw hat. The bombs in the north of France were so loud that they could be heard in London. Thousands of injured men were languishing in the Somme. (iii) Those who survived might not be evacuated for months. They had to be taken from dugout trench hospitals to field hospitals, then to clearing hospitals, to base hospitals and then to the hospital ships back to Blighty. Thanks to his officer's uniform, Edward had been cleared amazingly quickly. It had helped that while his coma and injuries were debilitating, they were not considered as lethal as broken bones or amputated limbs would have been. Isobel quietly thanked God that he wasn't disfigured. So many of the men in Number Six Hospital had horrific facial injuries and burns caused by bombs and gas.

On the other side of the coin, Eddie had been rescued because someone thought he would be able to return to duty. If he were to recover his vision, he would be sent back. Just the thought of it paralyzed her with dread. But if he remained functionally blind, what would his life be like? She desperately wanted to be seen. And what if they should have children? Isobel hardly knew what to pray for.

Lost in thought, she tripped and hopped away as a large gentleman bumped into her from behind. He smiled kindly and tipped his hat to her.

"Sorry, Nurse. Are you all right?"

Isobel nodded curtly, her lips pressed together. The man tipped his hat again and moved on. Isobel began to tremble, and cursed herself. There were a lot of men in the world and the majority of them were decent. If truth be told, she had often preferred the company of men, disdaining the feminine tendency to gossip and extol the wonders of fashion. Working in the base hospital had enabled her to indulge her interests with like-minded people. And she enjoyed the camaraderie of the soldiers.

Yes, there were a lot of good, honest men. Eddie was good. Tully was good. The Colonel, too. She counted up men she trusted but redoubled her pace and reached the hospital in no time at all.

A long queue of injured men was being brought in and the odour of burnt flesh and gangrene was rank. She marched up the crowded steps, steeling her heart against the sight of freshly-acquired patients lying on stretchers from the steps all the way to the wards.

A blond Tommy smoking a cigarette threw his arm around her neck. "Allo, love! How about a kiss?"

Isobel blanched and tried to push him away. "Help me!"

"Oh, come on, then!" He held her firmly while she struggled.

"Help!"

A nearby doctor stood up. "You there! Leave this hospital at once!"

"But sir—"

"Be off with you! Try your luck at another hospital and mind your manners next time!"

"Fuck off, you bastard!" Nonetheless, he took his hands off of Isobel—but not before kissing her.

"Corporal?" the doctor bellowed, snatching her up as her knees gave way.

A new man scurried over. "Yes, sir, Major!"

"This soldier is to be written up for insubordination. Take his information down and if he causes any more trouble, take him into custody!"

"I didn't mean no trouble," the man grumbled.

"Well, you've got it!" The doctor set Isobel down and offered her his arm. She took it gladly and tried to stop hyperventilating. "Are you all right, ma'am?"

She wiped her mouth. "I want my husband."

"Is he here?"

"Yes, he's a patient."

Groups of doctors and nurses performed triage and pinned notes to each man's clothing or blankets. At least in Blighty, even if their admission and treatment was delayed, they knew they were going to _be_ treated. (iv) Isobel was glad she'd left Private Barker in her room. He'd have killed the poor fellows with affection.

The charge nurse plucked her way through the men. "Nurse Masen?"

"Yes?"

"Your husband's doctor would like a word with you, ma'am."

Isobel reeled. "Eddie…" Once again, the major had to hold her up.

The nurse smiled. "Oh, he's fine! I'm sorry I gave you a turn. I think Dr. Marcus wants to know whether you can take him home."

Isobel felt the blood seep back into her limbs. "Oh, thank God."

The major beamed. "There's a piece of good news for you, ma'am! Are you all right now?"

"Yes, thank you for your trouble."

"No trouble at all." He touched his finger to his forehead and went back to his patient. Isobel turned to the charge nurse.

"Where is Dr. Marcus?"

"In Surgery Four, ma'am. May I ask you to scrub in?"

"Of course."

The nurse led Isobel to the cleansing station outside the surgeries. Isobel scrubbed her hands and put on a mask. She pushed open the door to the surgery. The stenches of ether, carbolic, blood, vomit and putrefaction were overwhelming. At least they had ether.

"Yes, Nurse?" the surgeon barked as he sawed through a man's femur.

"Dr. Marcus, I'm Mrs. Edward Masen."

"Masen… Ah, yes. The blind man. He's healing nicely. We can't really do much more for him here. Do you think you can care for him at home?" The patient's gangrene-blackened leg fell to the floor with a wet thunk. Dr. Marcus straightened up, the bone saw dripping with gore, while his yeoman nurses cleaned up the mess.

There was more risk to Edward from living with bacteria in the hospital than there could possibly be at home. "Yes, sir."

Dr. Marcus closed a flap of flesh over the end of the patient's bone. A QAIMN prepared a needle and suture. "When?"

"Now?"

"Get his nurse and tell her to bring me the paperwork."

"Yes, sir." Isobel practically ran from the foul-smelling room. She found Jessy conversing with another QAIMN overtop of a man who'd had his fingers and toes removed and genitals debrided, likely for gangrene acquired in wet trenches.

"The wounds are to be disinfected," Jessy said, "and then Dr. Marcus will do the stitches. Make sure the operating room is completely disinfected with Lysol before this man goes back in."

"Yes, ma'am."

Isobel shuddered. She could see his insides. That could have been Eddie! How could any man live through that? Why would he want to?

"Jessy?" Isobel murmured.

The Senior Nurse looked up from her patient's chart. "Hello, Bella. Let me just finish up here, and—"

"Dr. Marcus wishes you to bring him Eddie's papers. He's in Surgery Four."

Jessy beamed. "Is Eddie going home?"

"Yes."

"Oh, excellent! I thought he would be. I've written up instructions already and I've packed most of his things. As soon as I've done with this man, I'll get the chart, ask for further instructions and get Dr. Marcus to sign the discharge papers."

"All right. Where is Eddie?"

"In the conservatory as usual."

"Thank you." Isobel marched through the hallways to the conservatory and found her husband attempting to play the piano with his left hand. His forehead rested against the top. He was still profoundly deaf but played very well –only missing the occasional note—and none of the men were complaining.

Isobel walked up behind him and tugged on his hair. Eddie jumped a mile, hitting the wrong keys, then swivelled on his stool with a laugh and embraced her.

"Darling!"

His vitality penetrated her bones. Supressing a shudder, she stroked back his hair. "Ye had better hope so!"

Of course, he couldn't hear her. The doctors thought his eardrums were pierced but not torn, but healing was slow to happen. It had been six weeks since Eddie'd been blown up. There was shrapnel embedded in his eyes. He could pick out shapes at a distance of three to four inches, but nobody knew if his vision would get better or worse. Every once in a while, his eyes would weep watery blood and he'd cry out a speck of metal or bone (v).

Isobel took his hands and tugged. "Come on, my love."

"Oh! Where are we going?" Eddie liked to talk, probably to assuage his own loneliness, but unless she got a horn and shouted in his ear, he wasn't going to learn anything if she answered. Isobel tucked his hand into her elbow and tears stung her eyes.

 _I will fall without you, darling man._

He pressed himself against her side, enthused as always by her presence, and moved to brush his lips over her hair, only to be prevented by her hat.

"Oh, bugger," she whispered. The entire hallway was now flooded with injured men. There was no way to get Eddie back to his bed without stepping on people. With a sigh, she took him back to the piano.

He smirked at her. "That was exciting. You should take me on walks more often. Alleviates the boredom."

She ruffled his hair and kissed the top of his head. "I'll be back."

It took Isobel ten minutes to pick her way through the layer of bodies to Edward's cot, and when she reached it, she found another man in his bed, wrapped up in his new thin cotton quilt. For a moment, fury choked her. Then it drained to be replaced by pity. The man's face was obscured by bandages. He was cuddling the quilt, sobbing, and his thumb was in his mouth.

Jessy appeared at the end of the bed. "So, you're cleared to go. Everything is packed in Eddie's new kit. I've put some bandages and disinfectant in there for you, and the splint and dressing on his hand were changed this morning."

"Thank you."

"Make sure the Old Sweats' Office (vi) knows where you are so he can get his pension (vii). Oh, dear! Jimmy's got Eddie's quilt. Here—"

Isobel placed her hand on Jessy's arm. "No, don't."

"Don't you want it?"

"I think it's time for fresh beginnings."

"About that."

Isobel waited.

"I didn't want to worry you. Eddie's screaming half the night. Do you want a prescription for something to make him sleep?"

"No."

"Good." Jessy leaned closer to whisper, "You don't need him addicted. So many men leave here on opiates."

"I know."

Jessy frowned. "Where is Eddie?"

"The hallway's full of stretchers. I'll never get him through."

Jessy called an orderly, issued instructions and snapped her fingers. Soon, a laughing Eddie appeared in the arms of a gigantic man, who set him on his feet beside them. "All right, Bella," Jessy said. "Get him dressed and then Felix will carry his things outside for you. And make sure you take the cane."

"Right. Thank you, Jessy. For everything."

Eddie sat down on the man in the bed, hopped sideways and grunted in surprise. "Sorry!" He patted the man, then frowned. "Hey, this is my bed." The man started to rock himself and wail. Isobel took her husband's hand, placed it on her face and shook her head.

"What's going on?" he asked eagerly.

"Never mind, Jimmy." Isobel tucked the man in. "This is your bed, now. And yer quilt. Eddie is going home today." The man stopped rocking and sighed. He murmured something that resembled a thank you.

Isobel unbuttoned Edward's cotton sweater and he slipped it off. She tugged at his pyjama top and he undid his buttons. Happily, his linen undershirt looked fresh.

She fed his arms into his summer uniform shirt, gently pulled his bandaged hand through, and lined up the buttons for him. His expression cleared. "Are we leaving?" He held out his palm, and she pressed her face against it and nodded. She turned her face into his palm and kissed it.

"We're going? Where are we going?" He fumbled with the buttons and flung out his hands. "Oh, God help me, I don't care as long as it's out of here!"

Isobel heartily agreed. She was attempting to button buttons for him when he tugged the drawstring on his pyjama pants, hooked in his thumb and pulled them down. Isobel knelt at his feet and nudged his shin so that he would lift his foot to step into his drawers. He took over, hoisting them up before she could get a decent glimpse of him.

Well, there would be plenty of time for that later.

Eddie reached out for his summer trousers and Isobel handed them over. Before she could say, "Bob's yer uncle," (viii) he was fully dressed, save the blue puttees. Evidently, he didn't want to bother with them. Isobel shoved them in his kit. Felix handed Edward a long, black cane and hoisted his pack. Jessy took Edward's uninjured left hand and shook it.

"Goodbye, Lieutenant. Don't come back."

Eddie started to lean toward her but hesitated, and peered at her from a distance instead. "Thank you… Nurse, for bringing me my Bella, and taking care of me."

Jessy patted his arm. "Such a sweet man." She reached for Isobel's hand and held it. "Bless you both. I wish you every happiness."

"Thank you, Jessy," Isobel said.

"Will you write to me?"

"Yes, of course."

Isobel began to lead Eddie out of the ward, but again, the halls were congested with noisy men. Surely no one else would touch her, she told herself, scarcely able to breathe. Felix simply took away Eddie's cane, handed it to Isobel, hoisted Eddie into a fireman's carry and hauled him and his backpack outside. Isobel followed on his heels. Eddie's cap fell off and she snatched it up. This time, Eddie didn't laugh; as his hand brushed bodies, he'd realized that there was nowhere safe to step because there were too many enlisted men on the floor.

Outside on the lawn, ambulatory men were milling about. Felix set Eddie on his feet and bumped him gently with the 80-pound backpack.

A cheeky corporal gave him a sloppy salute. "Oi, Lieutenant! Goin' ome, are yer?"

"That's right, he's been discharged," Felix said cheerfully. "Know him, do you?"

"Nah, just bein' friendly." He looked at Eddie curiously.

"He's stone deaf. Whizzbang."

"Blimey. Sodding (ix) Krauts." The corporal gave Edward a pat on the arm.

"Oh, hello." Eddie stuck out his hand and the corporal shook it energetically.

"Congrats on goin' ome, Ole Sweat."

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you."

The man leaned in and shouted, "Welcome 'ome, sir!"

"Thank you." Eddie felt for the straps of his pack and shifted it onto his back.

Isobel reached out in a panic. "That's too heavy!" Felix touched her hand with the tips of his fingers and she released her hold on the huge pack.

"Begging your pardon, missus, but he'll be happier if you let him manage that."

"But he's been in the hospital for six weeks!"

"All the better reason to let him gather his strength. Look at him, ma'am. There might not be any bloom to him, but he's a lot fatter than when he came in and he doesn't seem to be in much pain."

"But if he falls—"

"He will get up again." The orderly's eyes crinkled when he smiled. "He'll love a walk. He's not an invalid, ma'am, he's young and he has a very sharp mind. You'll need to keep him busy. Wear him out."

Eddie's hair ruffled in the breeze. He took in a deep breath and turned his face up to the sun. A faint smile graced his lips. He looked so handsome that Isobel's heart flipped.

"Of course," she murmured, setting his cap on his head. He reached up, set it straight and waited expectantly.

"You must allow him to do as much for himself as he can," Felix advised. "I have a brother who is blind. He tunes pianos. Needs a bit of a hand to get around new places, but he has a wife and three children, now."

"That's wonderful."

Eddie turned toward Isobel. "What's the plan, wife? We're not on the road, are we? The ground's too soft."

"Do you want me to hail a cab?" Felix asked.

"No, the boarding house is only a few blocks away." Isobel took Eddie's injured hand and tucked it in the crook of her arm.

Felix clapped Edward lightly on the shoulder. "Godspeed."

Edward gave him a cheeky salute, cane in hand. "Thanks for the lift, Ensign. Guess you'll have to find somebody else to lug about, now."

"I'm going to miss your stories, sir."

Isobel's jaw dropped. "How did he know it was you?"

"First of all, because I always touch the deafblind the same way as a greeting before I do anything to them. And second, because I'm so tall. He knows my rank because I showed him my badges. It helps the deafblind to have names for people. I've noticed you always stroke his hair when you greet him, missus, and ruffle it and kiss him on the head when you leave. You'll want to continue that."

"Thank you, Felix."

"My pleasure, ma'am. God bless!"

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

i The average cost to rent a room in London, UK was 2 to 6 shillings a week in 1916. I am assuming it was a little bit cheaper in Brighton, so I have estimated 6 shillings would be enough to provide a fairly nice room and board for a young married couple. You could buy a loaf of bread for a penny. A week's groceries for what we would consider a middle class family of twelve (yeah, not unusual) would cost between one and two pounds sterling.

ii **The Battle of the Somme** was actually a group of battles, fought between July 1, 1916 and November 18, 1916. By its end, the Somme was the first offensive to fully employ air raids and tanks. Technically, the fighting dragged on longer, but that was the official cut-off date. After that, the weather got so bad that both sides' struggle was to simply make it through the winter. In January, the German commanders decided to retreat to the Hindenberg Line because they didn't think their soldiers could endure another battle. The Allies advanced 16 km overall.

Although the British soldiers were the freshest and brightest soldiers on the field (the French having been worn out by previous fighting), Kitchener's new British recruits had no experience of warfare. Germany's soldiers were already exhausted by the time the offensive began, but had much more experience in wartime soldiering than the Brits did. There were heavy casualties on both sides—over a million altogether—making this one of the bloodiest battles in history up to that time. People still question the value of the offensive since neither side was a clear winner or loser, but most historians agree that the German army was weakened to such a degree that it was the beginning of the end for Germany.

iii One of the surviving Blue Puttees from Beaumont-Hamel said he was shot, then shot three more times as he tried to crawl back to his trench, where he awaited rescue for another fifteen hours. That was typical in the Battle of the Somme.

iv When men were sent through **triage** at trench hospitals and casualty clearing stations, a note was pinned to their jackets stating their priority. Some men's notes read, "Not expected to live." Survivors and medical staff reported that injured men could easily read their fates on those notes.

v During explosions, not only shards of rock, metal and wood, but the clothing, bone fragments and teeth of bomb victims and animals might be embedded in the bodies of those nearby.

vi **Old Sweats** : veterans

vii **Pensions** : Commonwealth soldiers were entitled to a Disability Pension if they received a permanent disability in the war. As well, there were pensions available for soldiers' widows and dependent children. The widow and children of a soldier who died in battle would receive their pensions for the rest of their lives—the time they were deprived of their loved one.

viii **Bob's yer uncle** : old British expression meaning, "And that's it."

ix **Sodding/sod all/sod it/sod off** : Victorian slang that's endured virtually unchanged. **Sod** is the shortened word 'sodomite.' It can be used interchangeably anywhere one might use the F word.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

︻┳═一

The walk to the rooming house was nerve-wracking. Isobel learned that she had to halt Eddie before he could step off corners into traffic. It would have been better if the street had not been so crowded. People greeted them and she had to explain that he was deafblind. Then, she had to stop and chat, and men would pet him and grasp his bandaged hand. If only there were some way people could tell he was deafblind without her asking!

Eddie walked into a couple of lampposts, fell once and stumbled frequently, but did his best to make fun of himself. Still, by the time they arrived at the house he was sweaty and looked drained and uncertain. Isobel looked up the dim, steep stairs to their room and bit her lip.

"What is this place?" Eddie reached out and searched the air around him for obstacles. Isobel grasped his hand and placed it on the railing. "Stairs. How many?"

How could she tell him? She took his hand and placed two fingers in his palm, then circled her fingers and set the heel of her hand in it.

"Two and a fist… Two and zero. Twenty?" He held up his hand and she nodded into his palm. "Okay. I can do this. Onward, into the breach." He passed her his cane.

He went up very slowly, gently kicking the toes of his boots against each riser of the steps. At the top, Isobel manoeuvred herself around him and tugged him to the first door on the left. She pressed the small key into his left hand and guided it to the lock.

"Oh." He blinked rapidly and squinted at the door as he explored the lock. Behind it, Private Barker began to live up to his name. Eddie canted his head toward the noise. "Is that our dog? Is this home?" He reached out for Isobel, the key clasped in his hand, and she nodded then shook her head against the backs of his fingers. His lips twitched. "Hotel?"

She sighed. How was she going to explain it to him? He asked too many questions at once.

"Well, you have a key. It can't be your aunt's house, that's in London." He held out the key to her. "Will you do the honours, please? I can't see the key and I don't think I can unlock the lock with the wrong hand. Yet."

Isobel took the key and opened the door. She nudged Eddie forward but he wouldn't move. Instead, he frowned down at her and set his hand on her cheek. "Boarding house?"

Isobel beamed and nodded madly. Private Barker scampered around their feet and she snapped her fingers for him to go and lie down in his basket.

"Excellent. Please wait here." Eddie took a step through the door and turned back to waggle a finger at her. "Don't come in."

He propped his cane against the wall inside the door, took off his cap and set down his pack with a grunt of satisfaction. Then, he felt his way back to Isobel and swept her up in his arms. She squealed and hung on for dear life as he carried her over the threshold.

When he set her down, Isobel whisked out her two long hat pins and whipped off her wide-brimmed hat with a flourish. After poking the pins carefully into the crown, she threw it exuberantly. Eddie laughed in surprise. The hat flew across the room, skimmed the surface of the small round table and landed on the seat of one of the pair of blue Queen Anne chairs. Private Barker scrambled over and yapped at it.

"Go tae yer basket, ye naughty dog!"

Private Barker huffed sadly and followed orders.

"That's better." Eddie cupped Bella's face, leaned down and touched his lips to hers once, twice, then pressed them firmly to hers. Isobel wrapped her hand around his neck and clung to him. He touched her lip with the tip of his tongue and she opened in surprise. He licked at her. Tentatively, she licked him back. She liked it. Their kiss grew more passionate and forceful and she put all her love and desperation into it but just when it was getting really good, he pulled away and turned his face from her, his face a mask of agony.

"You should take Private Barker for a run."

"All right." Isobel whistled sharply and Eddie reflexively hunkered down. Isobel realized that it must sound, to him, like a whizzbang. The dog sat on his foot and wagged his tail. Eddie reached down with a shaking hand and patted him. Bella patted Eddie.

"Silly of me," he said in a monotone. "There are no bombs here."

Isobel sighed. "I'm sorry, love. I'll be back, straightaway." She ruffled his hair and kissed him on the head.

"Yes, you'd better take him out," he said woodenly. He bent his right arm in front of his chest and extended the other to check for obstacles as he'd been taught in the hospital. If he were to trip and fall, the bent arm would catch him and reduce the risk of breaking bones.

Isobel snapped on the leash and hurried down with the dog. Private Barker rushed to lift his leg against the nearest lamp post and she waited impatiently for him to finish up. When she went back to her room, she found Eddie sitting in the chair where she'd thrown her hat. The hat, mercifully, was on the dining table, not underneath him. She sent Private Barker to his basket and knelt at Eddie's feet. He looked as though he might cry and she'd never known him to cry. She knew in her head that it would be good for him, but her heart sped in alarm. Why hadn't she anticipated that his homecoming might stir up his grief?

"I shouldn't be here," he said roughly. "This is selfish. I'm a goldbrick now. You should imshee (i) me to an institution. I'll give you an annulment."

She gripped his face in her hands and shook him. "No, no, no!" She peppered his face with kisses until he embraced her again.

"I'm useless. What kind of husband can I be to—?"

She drew back and slapped his uninjured cheek lightly with just her fingertips, but even so, her fingers tingled a bit. He touched his cheek and stared at her mutely. She pulled herself up until they were eye-to-eye.

"I. Love. You." _Ye daft beggar._

His lip trembled. He tucked his face into her neck, embraced her tightly, and sniffed. "It won't be gravy (ii) with me."

Isobel stroked his hair. "There, there, now. You're home. There'll be no more talk of hospitals and uselessness." The shoulder of her uniform grew uncomfortably warm and damp although he made no sound. At last, he drew back without looking at her and wiped his face. She unlaced his boots, removed them and took them to the mat by the door. She helped him with his leather belt and summer uniform jacket, which she hung in their small wardrobe. With her back to him, she stroked the bars on its sleeve and steeled herself. She wanted to be a proper wife. Eddie was a good, fair-minded man; he wouldn't hurt her or reject her. He was her defender and sweetheart. She trusted him, body and soul. But perhaps it was a blessing that he couldn't see more than a few inches distant just yet, given what she was about to do.

Isobel removed her apron and put it on its hook. She undid the buttons on her blouse and hung it up carefully, making sure the collar lay neatly. She loosed the buttons on her wraparound skirt, gathered it and folded it into its drawer. Her fingers trembled as she plucked apart each hook on her busk. The corset and chemise joined her skirt in the drawer. Her petticoats swished as she dropped them to the floor.

Without looking at her husband, she retrieved her boot hook from its spot atop the wardrobe and undid her buttons. Everything was returned neatly to its place.

She did not remove her silver crucifix, or the small medallions of St. Christopher, St. Joan of Arc and St. Camillus. Rather, she mouthed a secret prayer for blessings. (iii)

Isobel rolled down her wool stockings and took off her garters. She let down her hair from its pins, filled the wash basin with water from the pitcher and dropped her sea sponge into it, rose, and went to her husband.

Eddie gripped the arms of his chair, his chin tucked down and eyes squeezed shut. Isobel set the basin on the floor, placed her hands on his knees, sank to the floor between them and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. He sighed and opened his eyes.

"What are you—?" He blinked once and his eyes widened. He caught her hands and halted her movement. "You don't have to. I don't expect—"

Isobel freed her hands, grasped his wrists and set his hands on her breasts. Eddie gawped at her. He didn't move for several seconds. Then, he swallowed hard.

"Golly. You're making it awfully hard to be good."

Isobel laughed, hauled him down by the neck and kissed him fiercely. "I've missed ye sae much, ye daft beggar." At last, she could indulge a year's worth of curiosity. "And I've missed looking at this." She put her hand between his legs and had a good feel. Eddie banged his head against the back of the chair, eyes rolling. His cheeks flushed pink.

"Okay, then," he said as she tugged at his suspenders. It didn't take her long to get him out of his shirt and trousers. Beneath his undershirt, she found a gold cross and a medal paying homage to St. Michael. (iv) She tugged down his skivvies. Her breath caught. He was no longer a gangly youth. He was magnificent. All lean muscle. He also had scars she'd never seen. Everywhere. Old, white, ridged scars, including ones from the welts she'd bipped, fresh angry ones, and down his left side, an array of round red scars criss-crossed with exes. And under those, a hand-sized portion of his torso was smeared and disfigured like melted pink wax. Not a new scar, but he hadn't had it when they'd met. With a gasp, she touched it and got nose-to-nose with him, glaring.

He tucked his chin and peeked at her. "Don't be vexed with me." His gaze drifted downward to her chest.

She waggled a finger at him. "You haff been in the hospital! Since I last saw ye!"

He licked a lip that was swollen with kissing and focused on her eyes. "I was in a truck. Bloody Krauts hit it with a potato masher. (v) What was left of the men at the back… flew. I was with my Second on the bench closest to the front. We yelled at the remaining men to duck down and then the tarp caught fire. The driver couldn't stop to get us out. Happy New Year, 1916."

"Why?" she cried. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Eddie framed her face in his hands and ran his thumb over her cheek but it was dry. He caressed her mouth. "Why? Darling Bella. I was afraid you'd come to fetch me."

"Damned right I would've!" She tossed her head and nodded decisively.

"The Huns wouldnae haff stood a chance against ye," he drawled. His lips twitched as she sank onto her bottom on the floor. "Did you just swear at me? Rosie would be—Oh!"

She brushed her lips over the scar. Over each of his scars. She wrung out the sponge and began to wash him. Eddie stiffened and then his body responded favourably. Fascinated, she ran her fingers over his hardening length and watched as the shape of him totally changed. Beautiful. She wrapped her hand around him. The skin was like velvet, soft as a horse's nose. He clutched the chair, made an odd noise and emitted warm semen. Isobel had a good look at it while Eddie attempted to fade into the upholstery (which was impossible as he was red as a beet). Laughing, she sponged it off, jumped up, straddled his lap and kissed his face all over.

Eddie was so surprised, he forgot to be upset. "You're not angry?"

Isobel bit her lip and smiled. She thought it a rather good thing that their first touches were awkward. Rumour had it that the Brass encouraged married soldiers to visit Red Lamps. (vi) Judging by how flustered Eddie was, he hadn't been touching anyone else. And speaking of touching, there were lots of parts of him that she wanted to discover. Surely he wanted to explore her, too. She encouraged him to read her with his fingers. His breathing changed as their hands wandered.

He eyed her warily. "You're not afraid of me."

"No." She shook her head, brushing her lips against his.

"You're not shy," he said.

She shook her head and they rubbed noses. "Not with you."

"Damn it, I really want to have a squiz (vii) at you."

She felt her cheeks' heat. "Turnabout is fair play."

"Hm? I didn't catch any of that."

She rose, tugged on his hand, led him to the bed and pulled him down. He hovered over her without letting her feel his weight, but touched his nose to hers.

"You don't mind? You aren't embarrassed?"

Bella raised an eyebrow. "Fair."

He squinted at her. "Fae?"

"Fai-r-r-rr."

"Oh. Fair." He goosed her lightly. "And right you are, too." He eased himself to her side. "Prepare for inspection, fair lady."

Bella saluted her husband sharply and he made that soft, surprised laugh again. She forced her limbs to relax and prepared to be ogled. Instead, Eddie nuzzled her hair and touched his lips gently to her ear, her neck and shoulder. He kissed his way down to the crook of her arm, sat up and brought her hand to his lips. He looked at her knuckles, her short nails, turned her hand over and looked at her work-roughened fingers. She wanted to pull away.

Eddie pressed her hand between his bandaged one and his left. Her hands were square and capable, but dwarfed by his. He intertwined their fingers and smiled solemnly.

"I love your hands." Isobel was astonished but he kissed their backs to prove it. "I used to watch you from my bed. Nursing, sewing, making lists…" He turned them and placed them on his cheeks. "All those letters kept me alive."

"Oh, Eddie."

He stooped to kiss her, then rubbed noses and drew back with a crooked grin. He looked about the room theatrically. "Whadda ya know? We appear to be alone." His eyes darkened. "There's nobody to tell me not to touch you."

Isobel pulled his hand onto her breast. "Touch me."

He leaned in to whisper in her ear. "I am going to touch you in ways that no man has done before and that no other will do again."

She nodded frantically and he laughed and kissed her cheek. "My girl." She was about to hug him when he slipped down her body and put her breast in his mouth. When he switched to the other side she swooned, but he didn't linger long. He began to kiss his way down her belly. Automatically, her hands slapped down over her privates. Eddie looked up gleefully from between her legs.

"Ah, ah, ah! Ye maun no cover-r-r up, missus. Ye belong to me, noo."

Bella rolled her eyes. "I dinnae sound like that!"

He tapped her hand with his fingertip. "You promised."

She leaned on her elbows. "I said ye could look, not –ahh!"

He tucked her leg over his shoulder and did things to her that were probably illegal, but Isobel couldn't give a whit. He used his mouth on her for a long time. Just when she feared she was about to have a seizure, he stopped and carefully lay down upon her. He aligned their bodies but did not enter.

"If it's not pleas—"

She didn't want him to bring the Frenchie into their bed. Isobel put her heels on Eddie's bottom and pulled him down hard. She felt him sink inside. They stared at one another, nose to nose.

"Oh, God." He blinked at her and quivered. "Bella?"

She kissed him firmly and he began to move. She loved the feel of him. His weight. She was greedy for it. Abruptly, he trembled, arched and moaned, then stilled and rested on his elbows. He peered at her, heavy lidded, then tucked his face into her neck and relaxed. It was nice being wrapped around him, but…

She squirmed, seeking friction, but he tensed. "Did I hurt you, darling?" She shook her head fiercely. Eddie eased himself onto his side and she rolled with him. They twined their legs together and she rested her neck on his right arm. His bandages caught her hair. She sat up, gathered it, looped it into a loose knot, and lay down again. Eddie cleared his throat. "Not to be indelicate, but there's a lot of idle talk when the men chat."

"Yes?" Belatedly, she remembered to nod and Eddie took it as permission to continue. For some reason, he turned pink.

"Some of them said that their wives find what we just did… onerous. They advised me to keep our relations as… brief and infrequent as possible."

"No!" Isobel yelped. Pushing Eddie flat on his back, she straddled him and did her best to make his business stand at attention so she could push it back inside her where it belonged, but no matter how hard she tried, it wouldn't cooperate. And Eddie began to laugh about it! Flustered, Isobel tried desperately to gather him up and stuff him in, but it simply wasn't happening. Eddie pulled her down onto his chest, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

"It doesn't work like that, I'm afraid. You'll have to wait until I've had a bit of rest."

Isobel tried not to pout. After all, Eddie had just gotten out of the hospital. She tucked her head under his chin and he embraced her warmly. "Oh, my darling little woman (viii), what would I do without you?"

Two fat tears squeezed out of her eyes. She held her breath and hoped he wouldn't notice, but her tears fell onto his chest.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"I could haff lost you!" she sobbed. "So many times." She touched the burn mark, and the round scars dotting his side, until he stopped her.

"Don't get your wind up. (ix) I'm not going anywhere."

Isobel bawled all over him anyway. When she finally looked up he appeared a tad pleased with himself. She didn't know whether she wanted to hit him or kiss him. Happily, he took the decision out of her hands and kissed her goopy (x). At last, he rolled away from her and saluted.

"Reporting for duty, ma'am." Something else was standing at attention. With a glad cry, she threw a leg over and put him to work. Their second time lasted longer, and although she didn't have a seizure, it was bloody good.

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

i **Imshee** : to go away or to make go away

ii **Gravy** : easy or privileged

iii **Saint Christopher** : patron saint of travelers. **Joan of Arc** : patron saint of soldiers, France and rape victims. **Saint Camillus** : patron saint of medical personnel. His order was the first to wear a red cross on their robes, centuries before the Red Cross was established.

iviv **The Archangel Michael** : patron saint of soldiers

vv **Potato Masher** : Trench slang for a German stick bomb, which was equivalent to a grenade. Nicknamed for its shape.

vivi **Red Lamps** : Ministry-approved brothels that the allied governments felt were safer from disease than women belonging to the general populace. Married men in particular were encouraged to partake so they would not miss the comforts of home. Single men were dissuaded as indulging their lust was viewed as the creation of vice. It was known for 300 or more men to wait in a queue for their turn. As the war progressed, prostitutes with gonorrhea and syphilis became more expensive to hire than healthy prostitutes. Although the diseases were incurable, soldiers knew that such infections would earn them a ticket to Blighty.

viivii **Squiz** : 'have a look at'

viii **Little woman** : the ultimate compliment an Edwardian man could give his wife was to call her by this endearment.

ixviii **To get one's wind up** : to be afraid

x **Goopy** : stupid

 **o~o~0~o~o**

 **The Cover Reveal for my first novel, _Moms on Missions_ , is likely going to happen this week. Please pop onto Facebook and give my new page a Like: Jess Molly Brown, Author.**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

 **︻┳═一**

Just after one o'clock, Mrs. Biggins swung the Masens' door wide without knocking, with a large tray balanced on one hip. "Hello my lovely, I've brought yer din—Aaaaah!" The crockery and utensils began to slide. Mrs. Biggins righted them before they could hit the floor.

"Aaaaah!" Isobel clutched the sheet to her naked breast and smacked down a pillow over her very naked husband, who let out a bellow of his own.

"What's happening?" he yelled. "Identify yourself!"

Private Barker scurried to investigate the old lady, who crouched in her voluminous, black Victorian skirts. He pawed at her and yapped and she flumped down on her ample bottom and panted as the rattling tray settled on her knees.

Thank God Eddie didn't have his gun!

"It's only me!" Mrs. Biggins shooed away Private Barker before he could get so much of a lick of bread and butter. He returned to his basket and sighed disconsolately. Mrs. Biggins addressed her tenants with her eyes screwed shut. "Your landlady! Bringing your dinner (i)."

Bella cupped her hands around Eddie's ear and shouted, "It's our landlady!" She stroked Eddie's shoulder and he slithered under the covers.

"Oh, dear God," he muttered, pressing his hand to his blazing red forehead.

"I'm sae sorry, Mrs. Biggins," Isobel said shakily as she reached over the side of the bed to pluck up clothing from the floor.

"You ought to lock yer door, madam!"

"I'm sorry. I forgot."

"Gave me a turn. Never expected to find _you_ starkers, and in broad daylight, too!"

"Sorry! We meant no offense."

"Hm. Young people! Back in my day, we stayed decent in all circumstances."

Bella could hardly say her husband, unclothed, was her favourite thing. After all, Mrs. Biggins had told her that she must close her eyes and think of England. "Yes, ma'am."

"I don't suppose you can help me up."

Bella winced. "If ye wouldnae mind shutting your eyes for a moment, ma'am, I shall fetch my dressing gown."

"I would not dream of opening my eyes, madam!"

Bella pushed down on Eddie's chest so he wouldn't try to follow her. She scrambled out of bed and to the closet, snatched her unremarkable dressing gown, put it on, tied the sash and ran to help her landlady.

"Take the tray," Mrs. Biggins directed.

"Yes, ma'am!" Bella whisked it carefully onto the dining table.

"Something smells wonderful," Eddie said, following her movement. Evidently, he was not going to die of embarrassment if there was a chance of receiving food to sustain him.

"It does." Bella smiled tentatively at Mrs. Biggins. "All right, ma'am, I'll have ye up in a moment." She stood behind Mrs. Biggins, placed her hands under her arms and heaved. Mrs. Biggins did not budge.

"If ye'll try to get your feet under you, ma'am?"

Mrs. Biggins put her pointy-toed boots to the floor and Bella heaved up on her. "Ow, ow! No! You, silly girl, it isn't working!"

Bella hurried around to the front and extended her hands. "Perhaps if ye give me yer arm."

That didn't work either. Bella had plenty of experience lifting patients but Mrs. Biggins was rather generously built. The old lady was also nearly in tears. Bella looked reluctantly at Eddie. He obviously couldn't tell what on earth was going on. She refocused on Mrs. Biggins.

"Can ye get on your knees, dearie?"

The lady's chins wobbled. "No, my ankle is turned."

"Ma'am, I'm verra sorry about all this. If ye'll give us a moment, I'll help Eddie into his pyjamas. He's verra strong."

"I can't see any other way."

Bella turned, unbuckled Eddie's pack and liberated his pyjamas from the top.

"You haven't even unpacked for him yet?"

Bella glanced at Eddie. "Well," she whispered, "we haff only been out of the hospital a few hours."

Mrs. Biggins' eyes bulged in her florid face. "A few _hours_?"

"Eddie was dispatched to Egypt moments after we were married. This is the first time we've ever been alone."

Mrs. Biggins' eyes flared wider. She grabbed Bella's hands and shook her head with a sorrowful expression. "You poor dear girl! Are you badly injured?"

Bella blinked and blushed. "No, he's a lovely man. It is but a trifle." She suspected she would not be hurting at all had she not been so greedy for him. They'd been on their fourth go when Mrs. Biggins interrupted.

"Well." Mrs. Biggins pursed her lips at Edward and nodded in approval. "Glad to hear it. I am afraid he's going to have to help me."

"Yes, ma'am."

"He's blind, then?"

"He can see a wee bit. And his hearing will get better."

"Ah." Mrs. Biggins turned her head toward Eddie's cane and backpack, beside the door, as Isobel helped him into his pyjamas. Isobel led him to the door and pulled his hand downward. He patted their landlady on the shoulder.

"Oh, dear." He sank to one knee and got eye-to-eye with her. His eyes looked a right mess but his face was kind. "First Lieutenant Edward Masen, ma'am. Are you injured?"

She shook her head rapidly. "Not badly."

"But you require my assistance?" He pressed his lips together. "If you will forgive the familiarity, missus, I think it will be best if I simply lift you into the chair."

Mrs. Biggins looked doubtfully at her new tenant. He wasn't a burly man. She hoped he would not drop her but she couldn't see what else to do. She nodded.

"Put your arms around my neck, please."

She did so, and quick as a wink, she was sitting in the chair closest to the bed, with two people she barely knew smoothing down her skirts, tut-tutting over her, and placing a shawl around her shoulders. She stroked it absentmindedly. It was baby-fine wool and wonderfully soft. Her rescuer eased himself down onto the chair opposite.

"That suits you, Mrs. Biggins," Isobel said as she lifted the lid from a savoury-smelling crock and spooned stew into one of two bowls. "You maun keep it."

"Oh, no," the lady said, even as she stroked it.

"Ah…" Eddie smiled as Isobel handed him a spoon, and felt around to find his bread. "Lamb stew with rosemary, if I'm not mistaken. Did you make this, missus? Of course you did. Thank you."

Isobel set the teacups in front of Eddie and Mrs. Biggins, who poured. "I cannae keep any woollens. Eddie's dreadfully allergic."

"He's not allergic to lamb, is he?"

"No, only the wool. Will ye have some dinner, missus?"

"That was meant for you. Go down to my apartment and fetch another bowlful. Bring a bit for the dog. The kitchen is at the back."

"Thank ye. Is there anyone else at home?"

"My husband will not be home before eight. Take the keys in case anyone questions you."

"All right." Isobel hurried down the stairs and knocked on the Biggins' door but nobody answered. She stepped inside and blinked, for the entryway was wallpapered in dark blue and the lighting was dingy. Taxidermied animal heads were the focus of the décor. Isobel felt as though she were being watched, and shivered.

A slender tabby cat pounced out of the shadows with a plaintive yowl. Isobel clutched at her chest and blew out her breath. The tabby rubbed itself against her bare ankles, meowing.

"Ye scared me, puss!" Isobel hurried barefoot across the cool tiles and opened the door at the back, to be greeted by delicious smells and heat from the stove. The cat ran inside. After a bit of searching, Isobel found a bowl and spoon, and ladled in some stew from the simmering pot. She cut a thick slice of bread from the loaf on the counter and scraped on a bit of butter. She took a smear of butter from the knife and gave it to the cat.

"All right, pussy, we're friends now. No more scaring me when I come down to visit."

"Meow."

"Of course, precious. Now come out of the kitchen before I get in trouble."

Isobel had to lure the cat out with a promise of crumbs. She swiped her thumb over the bread and let the cat lick off a smidgen of butter. "Ah, I'm yer friend for life now, I'll wager." Isobel took a bite of her bread and hurried back upstairs, where she found Eddie telling a wide-eyed Mrs. Biggins about the time he had a much-anticipated ration of melon stolen by a capuchin monkey.(ii) Isobel spooned a bit of the stew into Private Barker's dish. It was gone before she straightened up.

"Little imp stuck it in his mouth, ran straight up the flagpole, ate the flesh and spit the rind at me. Everyone laughed at me, including him!"

"Gracious!" Mrs. Biggins took another spoonful of her stew while Eddie ran a scrap of bread around his empty bowl. She didn't seem to notice that his hand was shaking, but Isobel did. He was still hungry. "Such things you've seen, Lieutenant Masen."

"I can laugh at it now," he accidentally interrupted her as Isobel poured half her stew into his bowl. He glanced up at Isobel. "Oh, darling, you need that for yourself."

Wordlessly, she tore her bread in half and placed some in his hand. His ears pink, he thanked her quietly and tucked in. Isobel picked up her bowl and began to eat. The stew was lovely. Perfectly seasoned.

Eddie pushed back his chair suddenly. "Where are my manners? Please do forgive me, darling. You haven't any chair!"

Isobel prevented him from rising. "I'm fine standing." She retrieved his napkin from the floor.

"Bella," Edward said sternly, "if you won't permit me to stand so you may sit, then you must sit on my knee."

Mrs. Biggins tucked her chin with a guilty look. "You know, Mrs. Masen, considering the circumstances, I do not feel it would be untoward if you were to sit on your good husband's knee."

Isobel felt her cheeks heat. "Tis nae necessary. I-I-I—"

"Come now, you are plainly an affectionate couple. You… should be comfortable in your own home."

Isobel glanced at Eddie, who had parted his legs and opened his arms. Her face hot, she stepped between his knees and he placed his hands around her waist. She lowered herself gingerly to perch on his right thigh and he placed his arm around her middle. Feigning nonchalance, she picked up the brown Betty (iii) and poured steaming tea into Eddie's bone china cup. She picked it up and drank thirstily.

Mrs. Biggins giggled into her own cup. "Now you've done it, haven't you!"

Isobel froze. "Done what?"

"Do you not know the Old Wives' tale?"

Isobel picked up the teapot and filled the cup again. "Which one?"

"When two women pour tea from the same pot, one shall bear a babe within a year. I can say with some certainty that it shan't be me."

"Well." Isobel sipped at the tea while Eddie spooned stew neatly into his mouth using the wrong hand. "What a lovely thought."

"Is it?"

"That would be grand."

"Babies are a lot of work."

"Sometimes, at the hospital, I'd have twenty or thirty sick men to look after at once. How much trouble can one bairn be?"

"You've got that right." Both women laughed.

Eddie pursed his lips and feigned a scowl. "What's sae funny, woman?"

Isobel put her mouth against his ear and spoke loudly. "Old Wives' Tales, PBI."

Eddie frowned. "Old mice tails, what? I'm afraid I'm a bit lost."

Isobel cupped his cheek and kissed him on the jaw. He smiled sheepishly, then cleared his throat.

"Say, I hope you'll pardon me for asking, but is there anything more to eat?"

Isobel stood and ruffled his hair. "Boys!" She went to the cupboard and pulled out a round, heavy tin, which she opened and offered to Mrs. Biggins. "I've some lovely shortbread that my Aunt Maggie sent me. Her cook is wonderful."

"Ooh, thank you." Mrs. Biggins helped herself to a large triangle.

The shortbread was thick and each piece fit the diameter of the tin. Coarse white sugar, a true treat, sparkled on the top. The round layers of shortbread had been scored through with a fork to make pie-shaped wedges. Isobel broke off a large piece for Eddie and he brought it to his face to examine it. "What's this?" Isobel bit into her piece, which was crumbly and buttery with just a hint of sweetness. Eddie bit into his and moaned. "This is the best cookie I've ever had!"

Between the three of them, they devoured half the tin. Isobel had to go back downstairs to set the kettle on twice before Mr. Biggins got home. By the time he knocked, the trio was laughing madly, playing cards. Eddie would randomly smack his palm down on the pile when there weren't any matches, with a cry of "Snap!" which sent the ladies into fits of the giggles.

Mr. Biggins entered and held out his hand to Edward. "Peter Biggins, Landlord."

Isobel directed Eddie's hand to meet his.

"Ah," Eddie said, his face bright. "You must be this fine lady's husband. Pray excuse me for poor conversation skills, I'm deaf as a hundred-and-ten-year-old Sweat at the moment. Whizzbang. A lot of men got the kybosh (iv) but Johnny Turk (v) missed me. I'm Eddie Masen and this is my wife, Bella."

"Pleased to meet yer."

"I'm afraid your missus took a fall. She may need your assistance to get downstairs."

Mr. Biggins' bushy eyebrows went up. "What happened, My Own?"

Mrs. Biggins waved her hand dismissively. "I turned my ankle, that's all. I must say, though, I'm ready for bed."

Isobel stood up, feeling quite awkward in her dressing gown and bare feet. "If ye need any help tomorrow, Mrs. Biggins, please call me."

"I shall, my dear."

Edward shook Mrs. Biggins' hand as they said goodnight. "Thank you for a lovely evening, missus. I haven't had a dinner like that since I was fourteen years old."

Mrs. Biggins coloured with pleasure. "Perhaps you would consider eating downstairs with me tomorrow night. It gets lonesome with Mr. Biggins at work in the evenings."

"We'd enjoy that," Isobel said.

"Excellent!" Mr. Biggins placed his arm around his wife's shoulders. "Be nice for you to have young people around again, missus." His eyes were solemn.

"Yes," she said sadly.

"Can we bring anything?" Isobel asked her.

"A little sweetie, perhaps?"

"Of course."

"I'll take the dishes when I bring your breakfast."

"No, I'll come back for them," Mr. Biggins said. "Just put the tray on the landing, will yer?"

"Thank you."

"We'll see you tomorrow," Mr. Biggins said. Isobel opened her mouth to offer to help him get Mrs. Biggins down the stairs, then decided they were going to have enough difficulty in the narrow space without her alongside. As soon as she'd locked the door behind them, Eddie snaked his arms around her.

"Mrs. Masen?"

"Hm?"

"I must smell like a dead horse's backside. Half of Europe's been ground into my hide. Where's the water closet?" He took a deep breath and growled like a bear against her neck. Isobel squealed and bent double. Eddie lifted her right off the floor, chuckling with glee, and she shrieked as he blew his breath out between her breasts.

Slapping him away playfully, Isobel slipped into an afternoon dress and shoes, showed her husband how to find the WC, three doors down the hall, and left him to his own devices. She whistled for Private Barker, snapped on his leash and took him on a hurried walk, fretting the whole time about Eddie. She needn't have worried. When she returned with the terrier, Eddie was lying –scrubbed pink and sleek— nude atop the bedclothes, ankles crossed, smoking a cigarette.

"Forgive me for smoking in front of you, darling." He blew a ring of smoke into the air, like a wish, and smiled. "Fancy, someone only smoked this halfway down and then stubbed it out. I found it in the bathroom and couldn't resist pinching it."

Polite society would skewer him for smoking in front of a woman. (vi) Of course, Isobel wasn't a typical female. She sashayed over, crawled onto his lap, grasped the cigarette between her fingers, took a big puff and blew the smoke in his face.

Eddie blinked. His jaw dropped and an incredulous smile lit his face. He lunged at Isobel, who crawled away from him laughing madly. Hampered by her skirt, she flopped onto her stomach and stretched the hand holding the cigarette until it was perilously close to her pillows. Reaching for it, Eddie pressed his weight down on her back and her heart caught in her throat. She couldn't breathe! But a moment later, he pushed down on her ribs with his bad hand, rolled away to lie languidly on his back, and drew on the cigarette until its end turned from red to ash. He blew a perfect smoke ring in the air while Isobel cursed her heart for pounding against her ribs.

He flicked ash into a soup tin on the bedside table and narrowed his clouded eyes at her with a delicious smirk. "Meanie. Do you realize how long it's been since I've had one of these?" He extended his bandaged hand along the pillows and she tucked herself against his side. She shut her eyes but they flooded with tears, so she stopped breathing in an effort to repress her sobs.

"Why are you holding yourself so stiff?" He turned onto his side and caught her weeping. "Isobel!"

Curse that damned Frenchie! Isobel hadn't intended to give him any part of her lovely day.

Eddie's forehead creased. "I'm not mad at you for smoking, love. I was only joking. Here, I'll share!" He held the cigarette up to her lips.

Isobel nudged his hand away, rested her palm against his face, smiled and shook her head. She got off the bed and shut the heavy curtains over the sheers. The end of the cigarette glowed red in the darkness. Isobel slipped out of her dress. As she moved to get under the covers, Eddie extinguished the stub of the cigarette and dropped it in his can. He lifted the bedclothes and slipped under, with his wife. He placed his leg between hers, pulled her close, and kissed her wet eyes.

"I didn't mean to make you cry. What can I do?"

She shook her head fiercely and he tensed.

"Have you changed your mind? Do you… want to imshee me?"

"No, no, no!" Isobel wailed, pulling at him until his head was cradled on her breast. "Ye cannae ever leave me again!" Of course he was insecure! He'd obviously always been a going concern (vii) and now that he was unable to work, he didn't know what to do with himself.

Eddie snaked his hand around the back of her neck, tipped up his head and pressed his lips to hers. "I will never, ever leave you again."

"Ye heard me!"

"Hush! The entire house can probably hear you."

"Eddie!"

"Well, I suspect you're being pretty loud."

"I love you!" she shouted.

"I know you said that, but…" He swallowed hard. "Still?"

"Yes!"

"Shh!" He tucked his face against her chest. "Thank God." He released his breath and his tension. "I empathize with your wish to yell it from the rooftops, but our landlord's going to storm up here again. Did you lock the door?"

Isobel scrambled out of bed and locked the door. She jumped back under the covers and pulled them up over their heads. Eddie laughed in that surprised way that she loved. He placed his ear above her heart.

"I wish I could hear your heartbeat." He rested his face on her chest. His eyelashes tickled when he blinked.

"So do I." Her voice was husky. How she wished he could hear properly.

"I will, someday. Soon."

"I know." They lay quietly for a while.

"It's been a big day, hasn't it?" he murmured.

"Yes."

"Best day of my life. Thank you. For bringing me home. I wouldn't have made it without…"

"Oh, Eddie."

"I love you, Bella. And I will never forget this."

She pressed her lips to his forehead and held him. They slept.

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

* * *

i In England, the traditional daily meals are breakfast, dinner (usually the most substantial meal of the day) and tea. In Edwardian times, the men of the house still received the best of the food. In poorer households, the wives and children might not get any meat. Staple foods were potatoes and bread. Oatmeal, while cheap and nourishing, was not accepted by most English people as acceptable fare. Luckily for Eddie and Isobel, they have a good amount of money and therefore have plenty to eat.

ii **Capuchin monkeys** , properly known as pygmy marmosets, were brought to Egypt from Africa, often as pets. There aren't really any native species of monkey in Egypt. However, there are baboons.

iii **Brown Betty** : a globe-shaped stoneware teapot, generally with a brown glaze.

iv **Kibosh/Kybosh** : from the Middle English _caboche_ ( _to behead)_. Eventually, to imprison, to fetter, to put a stop to someone, to decisively terminate someone.

v **Johnny Turk** : British/Allied trench slang for Turkish soldiers.

vi It was considered to be in extremely poor taste for a man to smoke in front of a woman. After dinner, ladies retired to sitting rooms and men went in a separate room to smoke. It was considered scandalous for a woman to smoke. In the 1920s, that would change. A lot of soldiers went home addicted to tobacco and the popularity of smoking consequently spread. Although doctors tried to distribute their knowledge that smoking was bad for people's eyes and lungs, they weren't believed. Many people thought it actually strengthened the lungs. As well, people smoked because there was no deodorant.

vii **A going concern** : a person always on the move, who frequently got into mischief, which meant loved ones (particularly mothers) were always concerned.

* * *

 **ANNOUNCEMENT: TODAY IS THE COVER REVEAL FOR MY DEBUT ROM COM NOVEL, MOMS ON MISSIONS.** I am so excited. If you love me, will you please pop onto one of my social media sites, have a look, and spread the word? Four kids need new pairs of shoes. And Techwiz needs an angioplasty (to deal with scar tissue from his surgery). All is going pretty well, but please keep us in your thoughts.

Hugs,

Jess Molly Brown

 **Facebook Profile: jess. molly3**

 **New Facebook Author Page: jessmollybrownauthor**

 **Twitter: at jmollyfanfic**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

︻┳═一

Over the next two weeks, Bella and Eddie fell into a routine. Bella kissed Eddie goodbye when she left before dawn to work at the Number Six Hospital near their flat. Sometimes, he groaned and tried to pull her back into bed, but he always wished her a good day and was almost always asleep again before she reached the door.

Bella had one afternoon off every Thursday, but every other day, she worked long shifts. Eddie fretted about how tired she was, but she never complained and she eagerly invited his lovemaking (frequently in the middle of the night, when one of them had woken from a bad dream). Nights could be gruelling, but they had each other for comfort. And he _was_ comforted, especially one Sunday, when Bella took him to mass during her lunch break.

He'd long since lost his rosary in the stinking Turkish mud. Tears stung his sore eyes when Bella presented him with a new one, and at the church, he rose to thank God for delivering him from evil, tried to sing along with the hymns (that came to him as though he were listening from under water while someone blew a penny whistle in his ears), and recited Hail Mary's and Our Father's while counting the beads. He knelt humbly to repent his sins along with everyone else. And people shook his hand and promised (according to Bella- who later shouted information in his ear) to pray for him. He had asked the father when he might go to confession, and the man had taken pity on him and had led him to the confessional right away. Eddie had exposed his demons, the gruesome acts of war that haunted his dreams. Things he would never tell anyone but another soldier.

The priest had startled him by opening the door to the confessional, taking his hand and pulling him forth. Eddie had been terrified that he was beyond forgiveness and the man was going to throw him out of the church. When the father had embraced him and patted him on the back, Eddie was too relieved to be mortified about breaking down.

The priest had pulled him out of the putrid muck of the collapsing Dardanelle trenches. Eddie might never wipe it from his feet, but he thought perhaps it mightn't always strangle his soul.

The bandages came off his hand for good at the first day of the third week. There were dozens of black stitches in and between his fingers, around his palm and on the back of his hand. Bella deftly removed them. Soon, the flesh began to feel more normal. Although he was secretly horrified by the shape of the stump of his thumb, and the scarring from the stitches, everything worked. He retained a good deal of sensitivity in his fingers and the base joint of his thumb would still bend. Since he had large hands, he told Bella that he fully intended to play the piano again. Happily, Mama Landlord had a small upright in her parlour and promised he might use it whenever he wished.

Once the headaches from Eddie's concussion began to lift, Papa Landlord arranged to enter the Masens' lodgings at nine in the morning every day. He'd trim Eddie's beard with scissors, brush down his jacket, smooth down his collar and tie, lead Eddie and Private Barker down to the street, and wave goodbye to them.

By skimming his good hand along fences, lampposts, blocks of flats and storefronts, Eddie learned his way to the pub, the bakery, the park and the seaside. In return for a haypenny, one of the small neighbourhood boys was glad to escort the deafblind Old Sweat with the long black cane (i) anywhere else he needed to go.

Overall, Eddie coped very well with the changes in his life. He tried not to be anxious. When he was worried, he sought Bella's reassurance. Since she never gave him reason to question her love, he did his best to hide his insecurity. He became sunburnt and sleek, the red of his thick hair struck through with gold. Delicate skin covered the cuts on his face and hands. He could be found doing calisthenics beneath a tree in the park most mornings, to the delight of his devoted White Highland dog. The immaculate young officer in blue puttees was soon a familiar sight at the beach, where he parked himself on a certain bench whenever the weather was fine, to share a vanilla ice cream lolly with the dog. When the salt air stimulated his appetite, he'd whistle to the dog and head for home, to the promise of a kiss from his bride and a hearty dinner, taken in the company of their dear landlady. Then, Bella would return to work and Eddie would go for another walk, returning for tea with Bella when the tide came in.

One day, he awoke and the pain in his head was considerably better. A couple of evenings after that, he was at the pub enjoying some salty chips with malt vinegar, and the sharp hum in his ears stopped. Voices emerged as if he'd surfaced from drowning. They were tinny and sharp. Too loud. Everything surrounding him was raucous and rowdy and disorientating. He broke out in a sickening sweat, inclined to dive under the table and cover his ears even though his prayers had been answered.

"Sing the one about the roses!" a man shouted from somewhere behind him, making him flinch. The people in the pub settled down and began to sing a beautiful love song he hadn't heard before. Eddie wet his lip and cleared his throat.

"Excuse me?" he asked hoarsely. His abdominal muscles quivered. His voice wasn't right; it didn't sound like him at all. He wasn't sure he'd even spoken. He pressed his fingers against the tabletop to still their tremble, and called louder, "Excuse me!"

The legs of a chair scrawked across the floor toward him. "How are you today, Old Sweat?" a shadowy figure boomed in a familiar _basso profundo_. He'd spoken to Eddie before.

"I… The ringing's stopped. I can hear."

"What's that, you say? You can hear again?"

"Yes."

The man gave Eddie a hearty slap on the back that almost knocked him over. "Hey! Listen up, everyone!" he yelled. "This young officer's just got his hearing back, God bless him!"

Eddie was inundated with exclamations, huzzahs, congratulatory pats, friendly shakes of his shoulder, and warm handshakes. Someone set a pint down in front of him, first tapping their knuckles against his in the way blind men have of toasting when they drink. "Thank you," Eddie said softly.

"Yer welcome, gov. God bless yer!" a man with a reedy voice said.

Eddie took a fortifying swallow of the crisp light lager.

"We've been wondering about you, coming in here every day, all by yourself," the man with the deep voice said.

"My wife is a nurse. She works during the day and there's nothing to do at home."

"I'm Bill."

Edward offered his healing hand. "Eddie."

Bill took his hand and grasped it gently. "Well, Eddie, if you haven't been able to hear for a spell, I bet you have some questions, haven't you?"

Edward skimmed his fingers over the tabletop. "What day is it?"

"It's Saturday, mate." Bill pulled out a chair and joined him at the table.

"No, I mean the date."

"September sixteenth, 1916."

Two weeks before his birthday. Eddie sipped his beer and listened as the pub's patrons returned to their singing. The chorus was lovely.

Eddie shook his head. "I don't remember when I was blown up. It was freezing, though. Ungodly cold." A sensation of being held down by collapsing mud overcame him and he shuddered.

"Where did it happen?" Bill asked.

"Beaumont-Hamel."

"Beaumont-Hamel? It's nasty in the Somme."

"Yes."

"You're… wearing blue puttees."

His chest puffed up, he was so proud. "Yes, I'm from Newfoundland's Blue Puttees, First Regiment."

"Oh. Oh… blimey."

Eddie tensed and his smile faded. "What? Do you have news?"

Bill sighed and his voice lost its exuberance. "You'd best get home, Eddie. It'll be dark soon."

Eddie didn't say that his prowess in hand-to-hand combat, which he'd been able to teach his fellow sappers, had ensured his quick ascension through the ranks. "I'm perfectly safe on my own. Please tell me about my men."

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I must leave."

Panic clawed at his chest. "Please?"

Bill grasped his hand. "Lovely to meet you properly at last. Congratulations on your recovery, sir. I'll… see you tomorrow, I expect."

Eddie gave up. He would ask Bella. She would know. He finished his pint, picked up his cane and Private Barker's leash, and stood. "By the way, Bill, where are we? Brighton?"

The man's voice came from a distance. "Yes. And this is the Pump House. You're on Market Street."

Eddie saluted with his cane. "Thank you."

"God bless."

"Thanks. Same to you." Edward left the rest of his chips on the table. Although it was a sin to waste food, all he cared about was getting some answers. He stepped onto the bustling sidewalk and closed his eyes. With the rush of traffic and the chatter of people, nothing seemed familiar. "Let's go home, P.B."

Private Barker yapped and tugged on the narrow leash. Edward placed his healing hand on the wall of the pub, checked the ground in front of him with his black cane, and began to count steps toward home. By the time he got there, he was shaky and dry-mouthed. It had nothing to do with the traffic or the noise.

What if Bella didn't love him for real? What if she'd been dutifully affectionate, but actually resented taking care of him? He didn't think he could bear it if her heart wasn't true.

He opened the door to the boarding house and quietly ascended the stairs. Private Barker woofed softly.

"There's Eddie at last," a matronly voice said fondly from the foot of the stairs. "He's late tonight."

"Put the tea out, My Own," a man answered. "Our boy and girl will be starving."

Eddie continued upstairs, ignoring the people who could only be Mama and Papa Landlord. He felt his way to the second door down and let himself inside. He dropped the leash and heard Private Barker scamper over to his basket.

"Oh, thank God! I was starting tae worry." Bella hurried over and kissed him. "Where've ye been today, sweet man?"

"I just came from the pub."

"And smell like it, too!" She held his face in her hands. "What's wrong, love?"

She loved him. Eddie gulped down the lump in his throat. "I… don't know what I ever did to deserve you."

"Oh, God help me, I _wish_ ye'd stop saying that! Yer such a pain in the arse." Eddie was speechless. Bella grabbed him around the neck and pressed their foreheads together. "Damn it tae hell, Eddie! Ye deserve the world. Ye're sae brave and good and kind and everyone loves ye. God gave ye tae me, remember?"

"I'm sorry, darling." He tucked her head under his chin. "You're right. God gave me to you and I should never question that."

Bella stiffened. "Eddie?"

He began to sing the chorus to the song he'd liked at the pub. " _All I want is a cottage, some roses, and you.ii Won't you come back and make my dream true? I will build you a castle of love for your own, with lilies and roses in bloom…"_

"That song is brand new," Bella said tonelessly. "I just bought the sheet music."

"Did you?"

"Eddie." She stroked the hair at his nape. "Eddie. Eddie!" She pulled him by the ears and kissed him all over his face. "Eddie! Eddie! Eddie! Ye can hear!"

"I can hear!"

Isobel squealed—splitting his head wide open. He laughed as she leapt into his arms and wrapped her legs around him. "Praise God and thanks be tae all the saints!" Impeded by her skirts, Eddie overbalanced and crashed to the floor. "Saint Michael!" Bella yelled toward the ceiling while he giggled, "Saint Joan and Saint Camillus, thank ye! Eddie! Eddie! Eddie! I have missed you so badly!" She kissed him all over as a rotund man with dark hair threw open the door and stared at them. Not that Eddie could see, but the man's black-as-coal eyebrows entered the room before the rest of him.

"Mister Biggins!" Bella announced in a thick burr. "Eddie can hear! It's a miracle!"

The man rushed out, his boots drumming on the wooden staircase. "My Own! Our boy can hear! Praise God!"

"Praise God!" a scratchy voice cried. "Praise God, Mr. Biggins! Our lovely boy will know us now! Oh, what a wonderful day!"

Bella remained overtop of Edward, her hands pressing down on his shoulders. "Ye maun come and meet Mama and Papa Landlord properly. Their name is Biggins. And Mrs. Biggins is expecting us for tea."

"I have a lot of questions."

"Of course ye do, darling man. We shall answer them all, best as we can. But let's go downstairs now and get tea." She tugged him to his feet.

He bit his lip. "Bella. I must know what happened to my men."

Bella was silent for a moment. "Of course, love." She patted his arm. "But aren't you hungry? We can talk after tea, I promise."

Eddie pushed away his irritation. "Bella." She tipped her head down. He didn't think she was going to answer. " _Bella_!"

"Twelve of you came back," she whispered. He beamed.

"Twelve of us? That's not as bad as I thought, out of twenty. Bad enough, but the way Bill from the pub treated me, you'd think—"

"Eddie. Not twelve out of your troop."

He stopped smiling. "The platoon? Twelve out of sixty?" That was rather more dreadful.

"Love, no." Bella stroked his cheek. "Twelve Blue Puttees. Altogether. Out of the First Regiment."

Impossible. "There are five hundred Blue Puttees—a thousand men in the Newfoundlanders."

"Were. By ten o'clock, there were sixty-eight Newfoundlanders left."

He couldn't feel his legs. Everything was spinning. "No. It's not true."

Bella placed her hands on his cheeks. "I would never lie to you, Eddie. I love you."

Stomach churning, Eddie took a step back, fists clenched. Suffocating mud crawled up his chest. He couldn't breathe. He hooked his finger into his tie and wrenched it free. Tore open the buttons on his collar. Somewhere, a warhorse was wheezing. Suffering. He wanted to put it out of its misery but he couldn't breathe. His heart squeezed painfully and refused to beat. All his men. All his friends, officers. _Blood everywhere_. Cap Stewart nodding solemnly to him before going over the top. _Blood, rust, salt, gunpowder, smoke and shit_. The enlisted fellows whom God had entrusted to Eddie fell like dominos. _Mangled body parts_. The wonderful, crass boys who'd nicknamed him and teased him about being a newlywed began to dance from the hits of the machine guns. _Faces gone but screams issuing from bleeding throats._ He put his hands on his knees and fought for air. The muck. He was buried in a year's worth of shit-laden muck!

"Eddie! Eddie, please!" Bella touched his head and he twitched away. He was shit. He should have stayed down in the muck. He was a bad leader and all his men were drowned, under the sodden, cold muck at Beaumont-Hamel. He should be with them!

"Eddie, breathe!"

They should never have promoted him. He tore off his summer uniform jacket and rent it in his hands. Bella shrieked blue murder.

 _The whizzbangs were falling all around him and the German heavy artillery was coming. Everyone was dead and he was going to be captured. Tortured. The Krauts didn't take prisoners. The air was simultaneously freezing and scorching but the bombs weren't doing their job. He would have to end himself. But he couldn't find his gun. That's how bad he was at being a soldier! Didn't even have his bloody bayonet! (iii)_

" _Lefty! Itchy! You've got to get us out! Don't make us go over, please!" Mash begged._

 _No wire, no explosives, no knife, no gun, no gas. But the Turks and Krauts were still coming. And within the trench, the enemy of Eddie's men was Eddie. He almost called a retreat but he knew anyone who retreated would be shot._

" _On three, mate," Lefty said, looking at him. Tears made black runnels down his cheeks._

" _On three." Itchy nodded._

" _Please, Sir!" Ducky howled as Lefty counted down and blew the whistle._

 _Edward Masen was a disgrace to the uniform. He had not listened to his men. He had not stopped his best mate from taking them all over the top. Instead, he had gone over the top with Lefty and killed them all. And now, he was alone with the Huns and Turks. He snatched at his puttee and began to unwind the thick canvas strip. It was a bandage. It would get rid of the sodding red muck in his lungs._

"What are ye doing?" a feminine voice asked from far away. Clenching his jaw, he wrapped the puttee around and around his neck, and looked for a place to fasten it. He remembered there was a pipe on the right of the trench.

Someone grasped at his arm. "What are ye doing, Eddie?" He shook her off. "Eddie," she cried. "Help! Help!"

He tied the bandage to the pipe and heaved himself backward. _All he could see was the gray gloom of the trench, but Johnny Turk was giving him an exhilarating tug of war. He couldn't breathe from the pressure on his chest, but his men were all around him, pouring into the breach. They would give the Kaiser's men what-for!_

"Help! Eddie, listen to me! God, help! Help!"

 _The pain in his head vanished completely and the sun shone down on his head. He thanked God for the blessed relief from the constant suffering. The battle was over and he'd be imshee'd home to Bella._

" _We'll get you out of here, Itchy!" a sapper with a shockingly red beard promised with a grin. Eddie smiled at the man, whose blue eyes twinkled brightly._

" _I know you will, Lefty! Hey, Shorty! Bangers! Piper! Get your sorry asses in here and pull me out of this shithole! I'm stuck like a tart's arm up this Turkish bastard's asshole."_

 _The men guffawed loudly and all their hands fastened onto his wool coat._

" _We've got you, Sir!" Shorty said._

A knife flashed down in front of Itchy's eyes.

"I've got him, sweetie."

"Eddie!" Bella cried, taking him in her arms.

That's when the screaming started.

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

i The first blind man to have used a **white cane** was James Briggs, in 1921. Before that, canes for the blind were generally black and very difficult for motorists to see. However, nobody got the idea to distribute easily-visible white canes to the blind until the 1930s, when France presented 5000 to their blind veterans. The first legislation granting protection and right-of-way to blind people carrying white canes was established in Peoria in 1930. After that, it became popular internationally.

ii _All I Want is a Cottage, Some Roses, and You_ , by Geoffrey O'Hara, September 1916.

iii When I was perhaps nine years old, I liked to look at the tools in my grandfather's workshop, down the basement in the house he built and lived in for over sixty years. He was a carpenter and house painter. I did not realize until many years later that on a dusty shelf resided the bayonet he'd used in WW1. Nor did I realize that the strips of canvas wrapped around an old piece of cardboard that were on his bedroom dresser were puttees. And for many years, his scratchy WW1 winter jacket hung in the hallway leading to the back bedroom. I thought the wool must have been a misery to wear. I don't know what happened to those objects but I suspect they were sold or given away after his death. I do still have his camp stool, war ribbons (some of which were put on bars), his stripes and insignia, his service medal and two full sets of brass buttons—from the uniforms he wore in each World War.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Good news: You're getting this a wee bit early. Bad news: My laptop dropped dead. Fortunately, the hard drive is fine. Unfortunately, everything else is a mess. Thank you for your reviews. I adore them. I will respond as soon as I can to PMs and reviews. You'd laugh at me right now. I have my kid's notebook with the busted screen hooked up to my TV and my external keyboard. The mouse does not work. My eyes do not work. This has been fun. Not. But at least I can write.

The notebook is too weak to hold Word. LOL I am writing and editing in Wordpad. So I'm afraid the endnotes will probably not appear. If they don't, I'll add them back when I have a real computer again.

May 24-26th: my kid's having his angioplasty. It's pretty routine but please be thinking of us anyway.

May 30th: Moms on Missions is coming your way. I am so excited!

All right, let's get back to poor Eddie, shall we? Yeah, I know you hate me right now. xx

︻┳═一

Chapter 10:

"Please, sir. Please, sir? _Please_ …"

Itchy was conflicted. Ducky was right, and that made him angry. Lefty glanced at Itchy and pressed his lips together. Itchy ignored Ducky and spoke to his other men. "I know the ground is uneven, but keep low. And don't run in a straight line."

From up St. John's Road (i), Itchy's mentor, Cap Stewart nodded at Itchy and blew his whistle. It was goodbye. Stewart's Sixty scrambled out of the trench and vanished into the smoke.

"Forward, march!" Itchy bellowed and stalked up the line, his faithful boys falling in behind him one by one. Itchy's platoon filled the space that Cap Stewart's had vacated. For all Eddie knew, he was the most senior remaining Commonwealth officer in Beaumont-Hamel. His platoon was the last intact one. That was a fact. If he were to call a retreat, would anyone stop him?

"Can't get any closer," Lefty reported. "Two hundred metres to our front line and 500 more to the Krauts'."

Itchy cursed under his breath. "There's no cover at all." Nothing but open ground and smoke in front of them. Itchy turned to his men. "Stay away from the Danger Tree. (ii) Everyone who tries to hide behind it gets shot, hear me?"

"Yes, sir!" the men barked.

"We could crawl over the casualties in the trench," Lefty muttered.

"Can't," Itchy said. "It's too slow. There'd be no room to cover our heads anyway."

"We're sitting ducks. Fucking Krauts."

"Itchy, please!" Ducky cried, white to the lips under the smuts on his skin. Itchy reached out and placed his hand on Ducky's shoulder, staring him in the eye until Ducky nodded and lost his wind.

Itchy said everything he needed to say to brace his men. None of his words expressed what they all knew. Nobody was going to make it home for dinner but they were going to follow him anyway because they were his boys—the best boys in the world.

After the countdown, Lefty blew the whistle and Itchy dug his hands into the top ridge of muck and scrambled up. He couldn't see three feet in front of him for ash, and smoke clotted the air and the lungs. All around him, the whistle-thud of Lewis G's bullets—imbedding themselves in the mud, and the wet sound of them penetrating flesh—was followed by the shrill, choking cry of casualties. It turned his gut. (iii)

He turned to his left to see Mash running back toward St. John's Road. "Mash!" The ensign heard him. Turned his head. And then, he flinched and the left side of his head popped off. Crouching, Itchy watched the blood-filled bowl of Mash's skull hurtle through the cinder-filled air. Mash dropped like a stone. Itchy ran for the wire. The men jumped over the front line trench and watched for barbs.

"It's not cut, sir!" Bangers yelled.

"Gap! Gap, there's a gap here! Go! Go! Go!" Itchy shouted, holding on to the edge of the barbs with his glove. He waved his men through and followed. They ran in unpredictable patterns and made strong gains. Itchy was so proud. They flooded into No Man's Land. And then Dildo ran past him, straight toward the mine.

"Lieutenant!" a man shouted, grasping him by the shoulders. "You are not there!" The man gave him a rough shake. "You are in Blighty! Wake up!"

Someone was screaming. The dead. The dead were screaming.

"Lieutenant! It isn't real! Wake up!"

A hard blow turned his head and the screaming stopped. Itchy grabbed his assailant's bicep and wrist and pushed his thumbs into the pressure points. His right thumb burned. It had to be injured.

"Ow! Stop!" the man shouted. Itchy pressed harder and exerted downward pressure. "I surrender! I surrender!" the man howled.

Itchy sat back on his heels and realized he wasn't wearing his boots. That damnable mine must have given him a bloody good ride. He couldn't remember landing.

It was strangely quiet. He blinked.

He was in a bed. There was a man in a grey suit lying on the floor. Itchy had hold of his arm. The man was panting.

"What is this place?" Itchy rasped. His throat was on fire.

"You're safe. You tell _me_ where you are. Look around. Where are you?"

"I can't see. I can't see!" The muck crawled up his chest again. He scrambled back toward the head of the bed and shook. He wrapped his arms over his head. There was bombing in the distance. What if it came closer?

The man got off the floor and hovered over him. "Lieutenant! Calm yourself and tell me where you are!"

"Beaumont-Hamel."

"No. Where are you?"

"Who are you?" he demanded. "You don't sound like a Turk."

"I am your doctor. My name is Donald Harris."

Itchy was in the hospital. "Bella? Is Bella here? Am I in the Wipers?"

"No. Where are you?"

Itchy stopped rocking and placed his hand on the bed. The sheets were warm and rumpled. "I don't know. Am I in Blighty?"

"Yes. What's your name?"

"Itchy."

"That's what your mates call you. What's your Christian name?"

Itchy tried and tried to make his brain work but not a word squeezed out. "I don't know."

"What's your rank?"

He hugged himself and felt sour sweat trickle down his back. "I don't know. You called me Lieutenant but I don't think I'm in the army."

"What's my name?"

"Dr. Harris."

"Are you married?"

"Yes. Bella is my wife."

"Where do you live?"

Itchy came up blank. He shook his head.

"All right. Yes, you're in the hospital in Blighty. Had a bit of a shock and it gave you a fit. It's very common to think you're back in the theatre when you first wake up. It's going to get better, I promise you."

Itchy hugged his knees and licked his lip. "I'm in Blighty?"

"Yes. You're perfectly safe here. There are no bombs."

Bombs! Itchy scrambled off the bed, slid under it and threw his arms over his head as fire rained down around him.

︻┳═一

September 17, 1916

︻┳═一

He opened his eyes and found himself flat on his back. His hands were bound. He pulled but the restraints were leather and he couldn't get free.

At least he was on a comfortable bed. And there was a pillow. It couldn't be all bad.

"Hello, do you remember me?" The man in the grey suit asked.

"You're Dr. Harris."

"Very good."

"Why am I tied up?"

"Sometimes you get violent in your sleep. You wouldn't want to strike a nurse, would you?"

 _Edward, ye'd nae like to hurt me, would you?_

He blinked. "I'd never hurt..."

 _A decorated officer broke a nurse's jaw last week._

"I am sorry, but you haven't been in your right mind. We need to take precautions until we're sure you are feeling better. Now. Where are you?"

"In the hospital?"

"Good."

"Is Bella here? Nurse Swan… Nurse… Masen? My wife?"

"She'll be here this afternoon. Do you remember where this hospital is?"

The Wipers. Bella worked in Base Hospital Five. No. It was too quiet. Shelling was audible but from a far distance. "The bombs are far away. This isn't Ypres."

"Very good. I told you where you were last night. Do you remember?"

"Blighty. This is… Brighton."

"Do you know what day it is?"

"No idea."

"Why are you here?"

Itchy began to feel a bit irritated. "Why don't you tell me?"

"I want to know if you remember."

"I don't!"

"Why are you getting upset?"

"You ask so many questions but you don't provide many answers."

"I want you to remember, not make assumptions about what I tell you. What's your name?"

"Itchy."

"Do you know your rank?"

Itchy huffed a laugh. "First Lieutenant. But I seemed to have been promoted to Captain there at the end."

The doctor paused. "The end of what?"

"The end… of everything."

Fire. And Lewis G. And men screaming. Always the screaming…

︻┳═一

Isobel sat on the hard wooden chair and twisted her handkerchief. Mr. Biggins patted her shoulder intermittently. The door opened, making her jump. Dr. Harris strode into the room and sat behind his desk. He was tall, thin, and unassuming, but had a fine dark moustache. What hair he had was greying. He raised a brow and looked at Mr. Biggins. "Mister…?"

"Peter Biggins, sir. I have the honour of being the good friend of Lieutenant and Mrs. Masen."

"Excellent. Now—"

Isobel bristled. "Ye may address me directly, Dr. Harris. I am an Army Nurse. I haff seen everything this war has to offer in Ypres. Ye dinnae haff tae make this pretty for me. I appreciate the friendship of Mr. Biggins, but I am not some fainting Society debutante. Please be plain."

"My apologies. Your husband must remain here, Mrs. Masen."

"For how long?"

"It's difficult to say. I need more time with him before I can make an informed diagnosis."

"I dinnae understand it. He has always been such a positive person. And he's religious. This isnae like him at all."

"That is why we call it insanity, madam. His behaviour is not logical."

"Eddie cannae be insane!"

Mr. Biggins placed his hand on her arm and cautioned her with his expression.

"What exactly provoked his suicide attempt?" Dr. Harris asked.

"He just regained his hearing last night. He asked me what happened to his men… and…" Bella's tears burned. She wiped her eyes. "I was too direct. I shouldnae haff told him there were only sixty-eight left."

"Sixty-one, now."

Isobel held her hanky to her face and sobbed.

"Come, now. Tears aren't going to solve anything. Since you are a QAIMN, I will share my initial thoughts with you."

"Yes, please."

"He has amnesia."

Isobel's world went black around the edges. "Amnesia. He does nae remember me?"

"Actually, being married to you is one of the things he does remember, which gives me hope."

Isobel found herself crying like one of the sappy girls she'd known in London. "He knows me?"

"That remains to be seen. He knows your name and that he is married. That does not mean he will recognize you when he sees you."

"Can I see him?"

"Soon. Let us discuss his symptoms first and then you can decide."

"All right." She shook her head to clear it. "What do ye mean _decide_? Why wouldnae I see him?"

"I've examined him three times since yesterday evening. He was violent in the night." Dr. Harris crossed the room and pulled up his cuff. There was a dark purple bruise on his wrist.

"Our Eddie did that?" Mr. Biggins rumbled.

"Yes. He was suffering a delusion and when I attempted to slap him awake, he attacked me. It was completely dispassionate. He had no concept of reality at all. He might have killed me."

Isobel sat up straight. "Dr. Harris. My husband is extremely skilled in the art of hand-to-hand combat. Had he wanted you dead, ye would be dead."

"Forgive me madam, but I do not think you are qualified to—"

"Eddie saved my life. In Ypres. He killed a man, using his bare hands, right in front of me. One second, the monster was alive. The next, he was dead. Trust me, doctor. My husband is an extremely loving man but on the battlefield he sets aside his passion and gets the job done with an economy of movement and emotion. If he had wanted tae kill you, ye'd be dead."

"You cannot know that he would not hurt you, Mrs. Masen."

She raised her chin. "I know my Eddie. I will neffer fear him. He is a lovely man."

Mr. Biggins cleared his throat. "I must agree with Mrs. Masen. Everything I have seen of this boy tells me that he is good through-and-through."

"All right." The doctor sat down again and opened a file on his desk. "Let me tell you what I know. Then, I shall take you to see him."

"Excellent." Isobel slipped her hand into that of Mr. Biggins. It was rough as a soldier's.

"Your husband can speak perfectly. He does not appear to lose his words or any of his senses the way officers with Neurasthenia do. He can walk, talk, speak and hear like any healthy man, unlike many men with Shell Shock. However, the nurses tell me that he is insensible for long periods of time, that his sleep last night was fitful, and that he had recurrent bouts of screaming both when he was asleep and awake. If you can call it awake. He appears to be dissociated from reality much of the time." He looked up and stared at Isobel.

"He does not know his name and only vaguely understands where he is. I will speak plainly, Mrs. Masen. Although it is a very good sign that he remembers he is married to a woman named Bella, he doesn't consciously remember much else. We don't know what to do with these patients except try to reacquaint them with reality. And they are often very resistant to that. They can become very angry and agitated. One must be forceful with them. I believe your husband will improve but it is going to be a very long road."

"How long?"

"We don't know. Cases vary. Sometimes, men forget themselves for a few hours. Other times, they have amnesia for months. Years, even. If it becomes too much, we will send him to an asylum."

Bella's voice turned dangerously dark. "Mae husband willnae be going to any asylum, sir, so ye had best take his treatment verra seriously!"

"Of course. We will combat his delusions. Delusions are common in cases like your husband's. These men are overwhelmed by terror and easily provoked to hysteria."

"My husband isnae a coward!"

Dr. Harris tucked his chin. "I never said he was. The Newfoundlanders' attack was a magnificent display of valour. (iv) But sometimes, the mind protects itself by forgetting. And Beaumont-Hamel… was hell on earth."

︻┳═一

The mental hospital had once been a grand Victorian estate—quite nearly a palace. Isobel followed Dr. Harris up a broad staircase with a fancy brass and polished wood handrail. Eddie's room was at the top of a turret. Dr. Harris turned a catch and opened the door. The room was dim and light filtered in from behind the heavy drape covering the window.

Eddie's cot and bedside table were the only things in the room. They looked very small in a room capable of holding ten beds.

"When he's able to move about," Dr. Harris said, "he will discover the window is nailed shut and the exit is supervised. That is for his own protection."

Isobel walked silently to the bed. Eddie's eyes were shut. His body was twisted up, his blankets rumpled. Twin padded leather cuffs secured his wrists to the edges of the bed. Isobel straightened his bedding. She brushed his hair out of his eyes and he opened them and stared right through her.

"Eddie?"

He blinked and writhed on the bed, opening and closing his fists. Isobel took his hand in hers and kissed it.

"Eddie?"

Eddie squeezed her hand and brushed his thumb over the top. He looked heartbroken.

"Darling man, it's going to be all right."

He bit his lip and screwed his eyes shut.

"Eddie, it's yer Bella. Will ye no speak to me? I love ye."

He turned his face away, his eyes glassy, and wept.

i **St. John's Road** : The two battalions of the Newfoundland Army began their attack at Beaumont-Hamel from a trench known as St. John's Road that was actually behind the front line. The reason for this was that the front line was so full of casualties from previous attacks that morning that concerted movement of able-bodied men wasn't possible.

ii **The Danger Tree** : after the big bombs went off, there was only one tree left on the battlefield between the Allies and the Huns. Allied soldiers flocked to it in an attempt to hide. They were easily picked off by snipers. Today, what is left of the Danger Tree still stands. Beaumont-Hamel is one of the only remaining, preserved WW1 battlefields. One may still visit and see the trenches, craters and other destruction. Walkways have been built so that tourists can see the relics without causing damage to them. Archaeologists and bomb specialists are still picking shells off the ground and artifacts out of it, including deadly mines and intact cylinders of mustard and chlorine gas.

iii Lewis G: nickname for the Lewis Gun.

iv The Newfoundlanders' attack at Beaumont-Hamel was described by the Upper Brass as a magnificent display of valour. The mindset of the era was that the loss of so many men and resources was par for the course. Not ceding ground was a point of honour and maintained morale. Nobody questioned the tactics or resultant losses. Most upper-level officers never entered the field and did not view the battles in terms of human loss. Field officers were discouraged from forming relationships with their men. The PBIs were pawns. Their purpose was to take out as many of the enemy as possible before falling. Those who counted the loss were the men who were there and the people back home who loved them.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

︻┳═一

"What's your name? Your Christian name?"

Itchy regarded Dr. Harris warily. He knew the name that Dr. Harris wanted him to say, but that man wasn't with them anymore. And Itchy was pretty sure that if he told Dr. Harris that the upstanding young man who treasured life and goodness (the only version of Eddie Masen that Itchy recognized) had died at Beaumont-Hamel when he got his men killed, Dr. Harris would pack him off to an asylum.

Although Itchy didn't know how to outlive his men, he was terrified of the asylum. Those places were hellish and he would be shut in a windowless room, unable to escape. It would almost be preferable to go back to the Somme and have no shelter at all. Of course, should he manage to get back there, he would get himself blown up straightaway so he didn't have to deal with the filth and the carnage anymore.

Itchy was tired of it all. "Just fuck off."

"Classy."

"Look, I may have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but one day in the Wipers was enough to cure me of that. Why don't you go talk to someone you can save?"

"Please tell me your name."

And why not? Harris had never met Eddie anyway. He wouldn't know Eddie from Adam. "First Lieutenant Anthony Edward Masen of the Blue Puttees, First Newfoundland Regiment."

Dr. Harris pulled his chair closer to Itchy's bed, but not so close that Itchy could see him properly. "Do you remember your name or are you simply parroting back what we've told you?"

Itchy averted his ruined eyes.

"You can talk to me, Lieutenant. I want to help."

"Have you ever seen men use scythes on wheat, Doctor?"

"No. I was born in London. Would you care to tell me about it?"

"Lewis G weilds a scythe and cuts down the blood-soaked wheat. Miles and miles of beautiful golden grass falls down in the odiferous mud."

"I want you to listen to me carefully."

"Yes?"

"Tell me where you are."

"In a nuthouse in Brighton."

"This is not an asylum, it's a hospital. I know you can get well, Lieutenant. Do you believe you're safe here? From the war?"

"Sure." But what did it matter if he were safe from the Huns? He couldn't outrun the Judgment.

"Do you know what happened at Beaumont-Hamel?"

The sky had been so blue. "The Huns mowed down the wheat."

"The Huns mowed down men."

Itchy swallowed and flexed his wrists against the restraints. "Obviously. Can I not fancy myself a bit of a poet?"

"Not if you want to get out of here."

"Hmm. Not sure that I do."

"This is a short-term facility. I don't want to see you end up in the asylum."

Itchy casually crossed his ankles. "You might send me back to the Somme instead. It's a madhouse."

"That's not very likely, is it?"

"I don't know." He wanted to say that the army employed all manner of dildos—most of them over the rank of colonel—but he didn't think it prudent. Getting himself shot for treason wouldn't do much for Bella.

"What do you remember about Beaumont-Hamel?"

"Nothing!"

"A lot of men died there."

"Men die everywhere and nobody bats an eye."

"Does that bother you?"

Itchy looked at Dr. Harris as though he were mad. "Should that _not_ bother me, sir? I know the army doesn't place much value on low-ranking individuals but I should hope that nobody would count the lives of my—"

He stopped speaking abruptly.

"Your men? Nobody should count their sacrifice lightly?"

"No!" he snapped.

"Why would you imagine our leaders don't care?"

He huffed a laugh. "The Upper Brass doesn't like us to befriend the men, you know, in case they die. My platoon… was different."

"You loved the men. You came up through the ranks with them."

 _Bangers and Mash. Ducky. Poor Ducky._ "They were the best boys…"

"Do you know they all… passed away?"

"They didn't _pass away_! There was _nothing_ dignified or peaceful about it. They were slaughtered!"

"They were slaughtered."

"Yes!"

"All of them."

A great roar escaped him. "Yes! All of them _except one_!"

"Does that make you angry?"

Itchy's mouth dropped open. "Are you joking?"

"Answer."

"Of course it makes me fucking angry! What the fuck do you think?" A whimper caught in his throat. "All my boys! All my brave, brave boys! I don't know what to do without them!"

Dr. Harris rose and tentatively patted Itchy on the chest. "I know."

Itchy strained furiously against his bonds. "Do you? Do you, really? Can you imagine seeing your dearest brother's head fly off? Can you?" If only he could get loose, he'd pop this condescending bastard right in the nose!

"My dear fellow," Harris said over Itchy's writhing and cursing. "I am so, so sorry for your loss."

He stilled and shouted brokenly. "They were my family! Those men!"

"I understand. It is a terrible, terrible tragedy. My deepest condolences."

"I ordered them to die! I should have… I should have told them to run. Even if the Brass had shot me for treason, some of them might have made it out."

"There was nowhere to run."

Itchy screwed his eyes shut and howled.

︻┳═一

Someone was screaming again. He startled awake. His sheets were soaked through with sweat. He hated sleeping. It sharpened every memory. They said the pill would keep the horrors away but he didn't want pills. He blinked and tugged at the heavy restraint on his wrist. He was tied to the cot, but he couldn't understand why because he wasn't itchy.

 _Itchy_ …

Itchy's friends were all dead. Lefty, Shorty, Whipper, Bangers, Mudlark, Boomer, Struts, Dildo, Harpy, Ducky, Egghead, Winder, Piper, Flotsam, Mash… Even Cap Stewart was dead. Dead and gone, months ago. Gone without trace. Well, except for Dildo. Itchy knew where parts of Dildo were.

Itchy hadn't even been able to go to a single funeral. If there had been funerals. More likely, a huge memorial service had been held for all of them.

All of Newfoundland would be grieving. His mother would be grieving, too.

︻┳═一

He was lonely. He wanted his wife. His cot was cold despite the bedclothes. Blessedly, they were not woolens. He was in a large room, by himself, tied to the bedframe with buckled, tan leather cuffs. He was dressed, at least. Why was he still alive? Or… was he? Maybe he was in Purgatory and he hadn't realized.

Someone touched his face and he flinched. "Lieutenant, are you awake?"

"Bella?"

"No, I'm your nurse."

Itchy closed his eyes. The woman he loved had imshee'd him to an institution, after all.

︻┳═一

Bella stroked his hair. "Love, are ye awake?"

"Untie me."

"Oh, Eddie. Why did ye do it?"

He did not answer. He didn't know why he'd sent his boys to their deaths, either.

︻┳═一

Someone was singing sweetly. For him.

Bella. She was rubbing his wrist. _"The trees prayed for the springtime so God gave the spring to each tree. My lonely heart prayed for someone so God gave you to me."_

"Why are you here?" he asked tonelessly.

"Oh, Eddie. Because I love you, ye daft beggar."

He didn't answer. Eddie was dead, just as he should be. And Itchy _was_ daft.

She repeated the chorus. _"For every heart there is gladness when eyes are wet with tears. For every care there's an answer from One who always hears."_

" _The trees prayed for the springtime so God gave the spring to each tree. My lonely heart prayed for someone so God gave you to me."_

His eyes were dry. Useless, and dry as his bones. He didn't want to care anymore; if there were any Divine answers, he couldn't hear one syllable of them.

︻┳═一

There was a man in the hallway outside his room. The way he walked sounded odd. Lurching back and forth past the open door, he was babbling nonsense.

"Shut up, sapper!" Itchy yelled, then, realized there were no sappers left.

"Oh, sorry," the man said, stumbling over. "Didn't know you could hear me talking to God. Hey… _Mace_?"

Mace was another name that didn't fit him anymore. "Who are you?" Itchy demanded hotly. The man bent closer. He was dressed in hospital blues and he moved oddly, his shoulder jerking backwards every few seconds. His wavy blond hair was unruly. Part of his left cheekbone was missing, but it wasn't a recent wound. His eyelid drooped over that eye. He wasn't pretty, but he wasn't gruesome to look at, either.

"Masen, is that you?"

Itchy's jaw dropped. "Hale?"

"It is you!"

"Fuck, I remember you as being far better looking."

"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not a figment of your imagination. We've both been imshee'd out. How did you end up here?"

Itchy blinked. How _had_ he ended up in the hospital? "I couldn't stop scratching. Uniform's wool. I'm allergic."

"Holy shit. They throw you in here for that?"

"Yeah."

"Who's the girl?"

"My nurse. The matron had them debride my cock for gangrene and now they've tied me up so I can't find out how bad it is. Will you… check for me?"

"Uh, yeah, if you're sure you want to know."

"Wouldn't you want to know if there was nothing left of your manhood?"

Hale sighed. "Okay." With shaking hands, he lifted the covers and tugged Itchy's pajama pants open. "Looks normal to me, buddy."

"Is it?" A strange shiver of hope passed through the dead man. Brief thoughts of a woman he knew. But she didn't belong to him anymore.

"Yep." Hale covered him up again. "So, why are you really here?"

"Where is here?"

"The looney bin."

Itchy thought about it long and hard. "They're all dead. Every single one. Everyone I knew. Half the boys in my country, it seems, got the kybosh in one day."

"I'm not dead," Hale said. "Cap's here, too."

"Cap McCarty?"

"Yep, but he's not himself. Goes blank most of the time. He can talk, but he doesn't."

Itchy wished he could see Hale better. "Are you as much of a mess as I think you are?"

"Hah! I am, indeed. I'm more of a mess than shows on the outside, would you believe?"

"Well, you're better off than I. I'm dead."

"No, you aren't."

"I… died inside."

Hale sat on the edge of the cot and growled almost playfully in his face. "Welcome to the club. _Who killed Cock Robin_?"

The familiar tune made Itchy smile in spite of himself. McCarty had sung those words in exactly that manner, so many times, and the boys had answered. Itchy drew breath for the first time in days and responded in sepulchral tone. " _I, said the Hun, with my machine gun, I killed Cock Robin_."

Hale's face wrinkled up into itself. " _All the pilots who were there said fuck it, we will chuck it, when they heard Cock Robin had kicked the fucking bucket_."

" _Who saw him hit_?" Itchy… _Mace_ demanded. In the summer of 1914, when Mace and Jazz were brothers, First had passed the song from man-to-man around the campfire while eating fried sausage and potato hash.

Hale… _Jazz_ blinked. " _I, said old Fritz. I saw him hit and I saw him fall in bits_!"

Jazz and Mace sang the chorus together _. "All the pilots who were there said fuck it, we will chuck it, when they heard Cock Robin had kicked the fucking bucket_."

" _Who saw him die_?" Jazz asked.

" _I_ ," Mace answered. " _I, said the spy, with my beady eye, I saw him die_."

They finished the song together. " _Then all the pilots in the air went a-strafin' and a-bombin' when they heard of the death of poor Cock Robin; when they heard of the death_ _of poor Cock Robin_." (i)

"Why are you here, Mace?"

His smile faded. "Eddie's dead."

Jazz got close to his face. "You're Eddie."

"Nah. Eddie died with the Newfoundlanders."

"Who's the beauty who visits you, then? Tall and curvy, with soulful brown eyes and dark hair."

"Bella." He wet his lip. "Isobel. Eddie's wife. I don't know why she comes to see me."

"Oh, I get it." Jazz rolled his eye. "You're delusional."

"I am not delusional! Eddie is dead! They're all dead! None of us—" he caught his breath.

"None of us?"

"None of us made it back from Beaumont-Hamel."

Jazz whistled between his teeth. "The Somme was a bitch."

"The Somme was a filthy, disease-ridden cunt!"

"Yeah."

Itchy looked at Hale mistrustfully. "Wait… You were in the Wipers, not the Somme."

"They moved us out. We were in Pozières at the first of September."

"I thought it was September now."

"It is."

"How can you be in Blighty already if you were in the Somme at the first of the month?"

Hale pinched him on the arm.

"Ow! What the fuck was that for?"

"I'm not a delusion, you sap!"

"You must admit it's unusual for anyone to get to Blighty that fast."

"September's a long month."

Itchy grimaced. "I'll say."

"They want Cap back and they seem to think I can help with that."

"Can you?"

"Doubt it…"

"You seem to have misplaced part of your pretty face, chum."

Hale laughed. "Sniper got me last year just after you left us. Didn't stop the Brass from sending me back. (ii) Probably thought I would scare the Krauts away. Woooo!" He wiggled his fingers at Itchy, who wrinkled his nose.

"You're not that scary."

"Are you blind, smartass?"

"Well, close enough. Close enough to be a goldbrick." He strained to see his companion. "Why are you here?"

"I'm not fit for polite company."

"Why not?"

Hale frowned. "Why are you tied up?"

Abruptly, missing bits of the puzzle clicked together. He knew the reasons but he wasn't sure he wanted to share them.

"I'm here, trying to save myself and Cap…" Hale said. "And the rum break is, I want my life back and that's not going to happen."

"What do you mean?"

"After I got shot in the Wipers, my… my dad came to see me in the hospital. He took one look at this lovely mug, turned white and left Blighty. I haven't heard from any of them since."

"Because you got injured? That's awful!"

"I'm losing Cap and he's all I've got left. I could use another brother, Mace. I have lost enough. Now, fess up. The only reason the quacks strap officers down to beds is that they're a danger either to themselves or others. All the other crazy Brass bastards are out issuing orders that get PBIs killed."

Itchy couldn't look at him. "That's what happened."

"What?"

"I followed orders. My boys died. Tried to top myself. The doctor's scared I'll do it again, I s'pose."

Hale was quiet for a minute. "Will you try it again?"

"Likely."

"Why?"

"I don't deserve to be here."

"Says who?"

"All my men. All my friends are dead."

"I'm not dead."

"You don't like me. I drive you crazy."

"I wouldn't have given you such a hard time if I'd known what your problem was. Why the fuck didn't you tell anybody you were allergic to wool?"

"I was under age. I was afraid they'd ship me home. Sad sack of shit, wasn't I, eh? Didn't want to be sent home like a naughty baby. I preferred to stick around and lead a bunch of fine men to their deaths. Men who wouldn't have followed me if they'd known how much younger I was than all of them."

"How old were you?"

"Truthfully?"

"Yeah."

"I was fifteen when I came over with the First Canadians in April of last year. I'll be seventeen this month."

"Fuck, Eddie!"

"Yep."

"But… you're an officer!"

"Of course. You know what they say about shit."

"What?"

"It floats."

"You _are_ one sorry sack of shit."

"Yes." He laughed and wished he could scratch his nose. "They only promoted me because the goddamned Turks had killed off all the experienced officers. Bella was right. She didn't want me to go."

"You might not see it, Eddie, but you have a shot at a new life. And I don't."

"Sure you—"

"I can't even walk around a hospital without scaring somebody. But you have a lot going for you, Eddie. You lived and nobody's going to scream at that pretty face if you go out in public. A lot of people worked fucking hard to ensure you made it home to your beautiful wife. You can start over. It might not be the same but it can still be good."

"I suppose..."

"Isobel. Your wife. You're hurting her."

"I would never hurt her."

"She leaves here every day, crying her eyes out."

Itchy began to pout. "She'll be better off without me."

"The nurses say you won't talk to her."

Anger prickled along Itchy's spine. "Why are you and Cap in the looney bin, Jazz? They shipped you back here pretty fast."

"Cap and I can't get over it."

"Over what?"

Hale leaned back against the headboard, which meant he was sort of resting on Itchy's arm. Itchy found he didn't really mind. At least Hale was warm, even if his tremors did jiggle the cot.

Hale cleared his throat gently. "Haven't been able to talk about it."

"Try."

"When we hit Pozières, Cap, Yorkie, Crow and I got lost. Separated from First. We got stuck behind enemy lines. Hid out in a collapsed trench. There was nothing to eat for days. And then, during the fighting… Crow stepped on a mine."

"I set landmines, you know," Itchy said mildly. "All over the Somme. Hundreds of them. When men blow up? _Pow_. They disintegrate. They become shrapnel. I have bits of a man in my eyes. Not a Turk, one of my own men. I watched him shatter. That's why I can't see. It's my penance for being a monster. I'm going to carry him with me forever because I didn't value him."

"Yeah. Crow died. And we were so hungry…"

Eddie pressed his lips together. "I've heard of that before." (iii)

"I-I-I am a monster!" Hale began to sob and choke. "And the next day, First Unit took sixty yards and we were back where we belonged, with plenty of food and rum, and Yorkie put his gun in his mouth and went west. And now Cap and I can't eat!" He leaned over the side of the bed and retched, and retched, and wept, until he was exhausted.

Eddie shut his eyes. Hale lay down with his back to him and whimpered. Eddie closed his fingers around Hale's wrist and Hale took hold of his hand.

"Jasper, you did what you had to do."

"Oh, right!" he rasped. "I'm supposed to forgive myself for being a monster when you won't forgive yourself for following orders! You really are delusional."

"Maybe I am. Maybe I shouldn't take the blame because my superiors gave me too much responsibility."

"Fuck, Eddie. The Brass has sent a lot of men to die. Not like you could choose not to obey your orders."

"That's true."

"Unlike me. I _chose_ to pretend my fellow PBI was a can of bully beef. Nobody forced me to."

"Yeah, that is disgusting."

Hale started to chuckle. Eddie tapped Hale's shoulder with his forehead. "What did it taste like?"

"Horrible!" Hale laughed, long and loud, shaking the cot.

"Damn. All that guilt you're saddling yourself with, and the poor bastard wasn't even tasty."

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

i The Soldiers' Songs of WW1 (unlike War Songs and Patriotic Songs) are threatened with extinction. They were considered so obscene at the time that very few people recorded them. Even today, some scholars insist that they are too lewd and foul to preserve. The Western Front Association has curated a small collection of lyrics that you can read online. .

ii If a job at the front could be found for a man who was disfigured or disabled, he would be sent back. For instance, if a man lost a hand, he could serve as a sentry even though he couldn't use a weapon. If a man's war injury prevented him from working in his traditional job, training for a job within his scope was provided. That might include education for a man who had to change careers. Every cost of retraining and rehabilitation was covered. Every effort was made to ensure disabled soldiers felt useful and respected. Sadly, many civilians were frightened of disfigured men and some of their relatives even disowned them or hid them away. However, the official line was that these soldiers deserved all respect and honour for their sacrifices.

iii It was rumoured in both World Wars that starving men cannibalized the dead. For the most part, soldiers were well-fed and did not need to resort to such horrors. It did, however, make for wonderful propaganda. The strongest rumours centered on the Army of New Zealand. Some bright German propagandist circulated the rumour that the "Maori-descended" New Zealanders consumed their prisoners of war. Rather than inciting the German soldiers to believe that those soldiers needed to be eradicated, it scared the crap out of them—doing the New Zealanders a wonderful favour. They were delighted to tell the enemy they were cannibals. Often, a sign would be put up above their trenches with a message like _Welcome to Cannibal Camp_.


	12. Chapter 12

︻┳═一

Chapter 12:

︻┳═一

Exhausted after her twelve hour shift, Isobel peeked into Eddie's dark room and was surprised to find two occupied beds alongside his.

"Please, God," she whispered, tiptoeing over. To her shock, Eddie was no longer tied down. He was lying peacefully on his side, almost too handsome in the moonlight spilling past the undrawn drape. She perched gingerly on the edge of the cot and placed her hand on his thigh. The room was chilly and he didn't seem very warm. She would have to bring him a new quilt.

"Eddie?"

He stirred and opened his eyes. "Bella?" He offered her his right hand. She pulled it to her lips with a strangled cry and pressed a kiss into the palm. She was terrified he'd realize he'd responded to her and would start ignoring her again. Instead, he wiped her tears away with his bad thumb.

"I'm sorry, my love. I went a little crazy for a bit, but I'm going to be all right now."

She threw her arms around his neck. "Eddie!" To her mortification, she burst into noisy tears. He gave her an awkward pat.

"I'm sorry, Isobel Maire. Please don't cry."

Isobel cried twice as hard. Eddie put his arms around her but there was no confidence in it. His apathy made her quake. She clutched at him, and after a few moments, he kissed her on the forehead. She lifted her face and kissed him hard on the mouth, but he drew back and kissed her chastely on each cheek and on the chin. But even as he refused her a passionate kiss, his arms tightened around her until she could hardly draw breath.

"Tell me I haven't broken you," he pleaded.

"Ye can put me back together."

"Can I?"

"Kiss me."

He licked his lip. "I… want to. But if I do, we won't talk and we have a lot to talk about."

"Why didnae ye talk to me, then?"

"It was all… too much."

"That's mae fault."

"No, my darling." He rubbed noses with her. "I pushed you to tell me."

"I didnae want to tell ye at all."

"That wouldn't have been right."

"I knew ye'd take it badly."

"Yes, but you thought I'd take it like a man."

"Ye're…" _very young_. She was glad of the darkness. It hid her blush.

"I'm not a kid anymore. We both knew it would be bad in the Somme. I knew before I left that the chances of me coming back were slight."

"So ye married me."

"Isobel." He kissed her then. He tasted faintly of mint and cigarettes, and she knew he'd polished his teeth. Such a small thing, but it meant he intended to fight his melancholy. "Listen to me. I love you. I fell for you the first time you ordered me around in Ypres."

"Then, why would ye leave me all alone?"

"It's not your fault. It's… I forgot and then it all came back at once. I don't know how… I don't want Beaumont-Hamel to touch you."

"It has!"

"Shh! You'll wake them."

"Why, Eddie? Why?"

His expression shuttered closed. "I was ashamed. I felt like I betrayed my regiment."

She pushed away sharply. "By surviving?" She wanted to beat him. "And ye thought ye'd atone for not dying by killing yerself? Suicides go to hell, Eddie! (i) And I couldnae possibly follow ye there!"

"Shh!" he signalled toward the other beds, but the men slumbered on. They were doubtless heavily sedated. "It was irrational. I was… distraught." Eddie drew Isobel back down onto his chest and traced one of his fingers over her back. "It was stupid. Will you forgive me?"

"No. I will neffer forgive ye for trying to take yerself away from me!"

He touched her hair with the tip of his finger. "I hurt you."

"Ye did!" Her skirts began to quiver.

"I didn't mean to. I lost my mind."

"I noticed!"

"Do you… want a divorce?"

"I want to slap you, ye stupid beggar!"

"Quiet."

"Of course I don't want a divorce!" she hissed. "I want mae darling husband back. And no more hurting yerself or saying ye dinnae deserve life or love! And no more disrespecting God's will for ye by saying ye shouldnae be here, understand?"

His lip quirked up. "Yes, Matron."

"Don't get smart with me or I'll soap yer mouth!"

Eddie hummed a laugh. "That's exactly what Rose White said to me."

"And she's bloody smart, too!"

"I know."

"Why wouldnae ye speak tae me?"

"I misunderstood you. When you asked me why I'd done it, I couldn't remember what I'd done. I thought you were angry with me for ordering my men over the top. I was upset when I woke up here because I thought…"

"Ye thought I didnae want you. When are ye going tae learn?"

"I will endeavor to do better. But after I talked to my new bunkmates, over there, and Dr. Harris, I remembered. All of it. And then I realized that I really have been a sap. You know what—?"

"I want ye tae explain something to me, Eddie," she said coldly. "My monthlies were late, but they came on last night. If there had been a bairn, how could I tell him that his father tried to commit suicide?"

Eddie blinked. He looked toward the moon outside his window. He breathed. Light kindled in his dim eyes.

"I want a girl."

"A girl?"

"Lots of girls. I don't want to raise sons. To go to war."

"I went to war."

He flinched as though she'd struck him. "Do you know what the worst part of that is?"

"What?"

"I love your hair."

Isobel felt her forehead crinkle up. "I dinnae understand."

"That Fanny-Adams Frenchie comes between us every day." (ii)

Isobel sucked in her breath. "I know ye're not like him, Eddie. I trust you."

His eyes went glassy. "No. I'm sorry, darling, but you don't."

"I do!"

"Bella. I understand it. I really do. But…"

"What does this have tae do with mae hair?"

"You hate it if I touch your hair."

"But…" She wracked her mind. She couldn't ever remember Eddie doing more than brushing her hair back out of her eyes. "Ye dinnae touch mae hair, Eddie."

"I don't touch you anywhere that he touched you, Isobel. Not with my hands."

She opened her mouth to argue, and realized it was true. She felt faint.

"I… worship you with my lips, my tongue, my nose and my Johnson. Never, ever with my hands."

"Eddie," she breathed, "Ye can touch me wherever ye wish, however ye wish."

"No, I can't, love."

"Eddie…"

"When we first came home, we were so tired, but I was so thrilled to have you that I would wake you. And one night I stroked my fingers through your hair and you shook your head. But I wanted you to wake up and love me so I did it again and you…"

"Go on."

"You started to scream."

She hugged his hand to her chest. "I was asleep. I didnae know it was you. Ye can touch me." He shook his head. "Ye can!"

"I've tried to cuddle up to you at night. If I embrace you from behind, it gives you nightmares. Every single time. You kick and scream and once, you even fell out of bed."

"But when we're awake—"

"The day I had the cigarette? At first, I thought you cried because I wouldn't let you have it. But later, I realized that I pushed you down to get it back. One second, you were laughing, but then you stopped. I frightened you. I'm always frightening you."

She hung her head. "I… I dinnae want to be frightened of you. Sometimes, it's as if… I'm back there."

He nodded urgently. "Sometimes, it's as if I'm back there, too. And that's why I don't take it personally when you're afraid of me. And when I'm lost, I don't want you to take it personally, either."

"But it hurts, doesn't it?"

He looked down. "Yes."

"Do ye think ye'll get lost again?"

He looked into her eyes. "No. It was the shock, that's all."

"If ye kill yerself, I will take it personally."

"I won't kill myself. I swear."

"Ye maun take control of yerself. I need you, Eddie."

"I need you, too."

"No, ye're not understanding me. Before I met ye, I wasnae lonely, but after ye left, I pined. Do not effer take yerself away from me again!"

"I promise."

"Kiss me like you mean it!"

"Um, I'm not sure that's the best idea."

"Eddie!"

"We're not alone."

"Now."

He groaned. "Bella!"

"They're doped to the gills. Hurry up before Katie comes to check on you."

"I don't want to get you into trouble. I'm trying to treat you like a lady."

Isobel drew herself up haughtily. "Edward Masen! That's the worst thing ye ever said tae me. I am a modern woman! A British Army Nurse, ye—"

He placed his fingers over her lips and laughed against her neck. "Yes, ma'am! Sorry, ma'am!"

"Dinnae make fun of me!" she mumbled behind his fingers.

He kissed her soundly. She felt her bones dissolve. Conversely, his bones hardened… and he tugged urgently at her skirts.

"We can't!" she panted in his ear even as she pulled him down. "I haff mae monthlies." Wordlessly, he shifted her garments, pushed up her knees and sank inside her torturously slowly. "Oh, lord, Eddie."

"Be quiet, woman. You're going to bring everyone running." He circled his hips in a most delightful way and buried her appreciative sounds in his kiss. Isobel came up for air.

"Jam on it, soldier!"(iii)

"Yes, ma'am!" And he did.

After their fire was banked, the evidence washed away and their clothing inspected and righted, he lay quietly with his head upon her breast. She stroked his hair. "I neffer thought we'd end up here," she said.

"Me, neither." He wet his lip. "I want to go home."

"I want ye to come home, but I'm afraid to leave you alone right now."

"Then, take more leave. You said in your letters that they owed you six weeks."

"I can take four weeks but not all at once. What about the money?"

"How much do we need?"

"None, really." She gnawed her lip. "Ye sent me an awful lot when you were away."

"I was making nine shillings and six pennies a day (iv), plus an extra shilling when I was training the sappers and setting bombs. But whatever's left won't last forever and I don't know how much my pension will be."

Isobel glanced at the men in the other beds to make sure they were asleep. "Ye sent me £200 and I havenae touched it."

"You didn't need it?"

"I make £110 a year, now.(v) Plus, as long as I'm employed in an army hospital, I get an allowance for room and board of two shillings a week and they cover our laundry and uniforms."

"That's pretty good money, but you earn every penny."

"It's a fine job, but I'd give it up to be with ye all the time. And to be a mother. When ye get yer pension, we'll probably be able to manage without me working."

"Have you any savings?"

Isobel leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Seven hundred pounds."

His jaw dropped. "How in the world? You said your mother was a crofter!"

"I had an inheritance from a great uncle, which is why Mam sent me to London, to Aunt Maggie. But I hated Society, so when I was fifteen, I effectively removed maeself from the marriage mart by starting at the hospital in London. Bit of a scandal, but the snobbish young ladies took no interest in having mae friendship anyway."

Eddie smirked at her. "I see I'm not the only one who's lied about my age." (vi)

"Why do ye think I didnae tattle on you?"

"Ha!"

"I wanted to learn! I didn't learn much, mind you. So, I was in London for two years and then I volunteered for Flanders, where, according to mae aunt, I learned entirely too much."

"About men? I'll say." He squeezed her hand to let her know it didn't matter.

"Over there, I arranged to deposit most of mae pay in the Bank of Scotland, and what I had in cash, I put in my corset. When I packed up to come home, I had £250 on my person."

Eddie looked horror-struck. "That's almost as much as I make in a year."

"We have enough for a house."

"Easily. But why buy one when we can rent?" ( vii)

"If we rent, we're set for a long time. We should visit my family at some point, though."

"Before we decide where to settle." He watched her. Isobel could almost see his mind working. "Would you miss it? Nursing?"

"Oh… parts. It's a sad business, mostly. I'd miss mae friends and I like being useful. I like helping the war effort and I like being able to learn about medicine and other socially unacceptable subjects, but…"

"But?"

Her eyes flooded with tears. "I cannae go intae storerooms. And I hate walking home at night. And anytime a man gets too close…"

"Oh, sweetheart." Eddie tentatively patted her head. When she failed to scream, he stroked his fingers over it. "You don't need to go back there."

"I dinnae want that damned Frenchie to win!"

"He hasn't. But I don't like the thought of you walking around alone at night. Or being around strange men when I'm not there to protect you. And we don't need the money."

"So, I dinnae have tae work?"

"Only if you want to."

"I maun think about it."

"Okay."

"I'll ask for leave tomorrow. They may need me tae stay on for a while, though."

"I don't expect they're going to let me out of here immediately, anyway."

"No."

"Is there any way Papa Landlord could meet you at the hospital and walk you home at night?"

"Mr. Biggins. He works until eight o'clock. I'm off at five."

"Do you know anyone else who's trustworthy?"

Isobel mulled it over. She didn't really trust anybody except the local priest and she doubted he'd be available to do the job.

Eddie stroked her head gently. "When I was in the hospital, there was a very kind orderly. He always stopped to socialize with me when he had a moment."

"Felix."

"Felix. That name suits him. How tall is he?"

"Oh, he's enormous. I have no idea."

"Might he be a candidate?"

"Maybe."

"Offer him a penny a day to walk you home."

"Are you sure?"

"I would feel easier in my mind if I knew you weren't alone."

"Pennies add up."

"And what if someone hurt you again? Even if I'm in here a month, that's only a couple of shillings. Money's not everything, Bella."

"All right." She rested on Eddie's chest listened to his heart. "What would ye haff done if those men had woken?"

"Hmm?"

"We got away with it, but what if they'd noticed?"

His lips tipped in a delicious smirk. "That's the one benefit of being in the looney bin."

"I don't follow."

"I could have told them they were imagining things and they would have believed me."

"Eddie, that's scandalous!"

"Just be glad we didn't mark our clothes."

The door groaned open and the nurse, Katie shrieked and dropped the urinal she was carrying. It smashed into a thousand pieces. "Sorry, sorry! I'll just…" She spun on her heel and fled while Eddie snickered and Bella staggered upright.

The men in the other beds shifted. "What's going on?" one asked sleepily.

Isobel rolled her eyes and kissed Eddie on the forehead. "And that's mae signal to go."

"Mace?" the man said as Isobel rushed to the door.

"Go to sleep, Jazz. Nurse just caught me spooning with the blanket." (viii)

Isobel caught herself on the doorframe so she didn't fall over.

"Aw, shit," the man called Jazz moaned. "Keep it down, eh?"

"It's the only way to keep it down."

Isobel picked her jaw up off the floor, grasped the handrail and hurried down the stairs. "God help me, I've married a cheeky bastard." Halfway down the staircase, she began to laugh.

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

i Don't blame me for this one. They're Roman Catholics, eh?

ii **Fanny Adams** : trench slang for _fucking damn_

iii **Jam on it** : put some effort in, use your muscle

iv Commonwealth Lieutenants received a wage of 9s 6d (ie. 9 shillings and 6 pennies) per day. Those with special skills might get a small increase. www. /pay_

v This is an estimate as I could not find payroll records for the QUAIMNS. In the first year of service, medically trained Volunteer Aid Detachment Nurses (VADs) made £40 per annum and in the second year they automatically received raises of 16 shillings 8 pennies per month. That makes the approximate income of a fully-trained nurse £108 per annum. Male, entry-level military personnel (privates, troopers, gunners, sappers, drivers) received wages of approximately two shillings per day. There were 20 shillings in a pound, and 12 pennies to a shilling, so entry-level men earned £35, 9 shillings per annum.

vi Most army nurses were between the ages of 18 and 38. One had to have two years of nursing experience to qualify as a medically-trained army nurse. Red Cross VADs didn't need experience to serve.

vii Only 23% of British subjects bought their homes. A well-appointed family home could be bought in London for £1000, but people wanted to be certain they could live within their means. The thought of being in debt was horrifying. . /2014/08/04/wwi-centenary-how-our-nations-finances-have-changed/

viii **"…the blanket"** (spooning, dancing with, fucking, etc.): masturbating


	13. Chapter 13

**The good news is, you're getting this early. We're leaving for the hospital tomorrow. Not sure what day we'll be back but it won't be Wednesday because that's my son's angioplasty day. Please keep praying for us. My kid's taking everything in stride although he doesn't like the heparin shots that he must take for the next week.**

 **Oh! I have a book.** _ **Moms on Missions**_ **by Jess Molly Brown is now available on Amazon for pre-order. The release date is May 30** **th** **. I am looking forward to discussing the story with you.**

 **As of tomorrow, I will have no access to a computer or Word. By the end of the week, I should be certifiable. Have a good one, my friends.**

︻┳═一

September 27, 1916

︻┳═一

The clock on the mantle ticked loudly. Eddie regarded Dr. Harris (who was so blurry he looked like a grey ghost) mistrustfully from his chair. The man liked to pace—the sign of a nervous disposition. Harris stopped and gazed out his office window.

"You must understand, Anthony, that most people who try to commit suicide afterward claim that they made a mistake and they are hale and hearty. Those who are released frequently go home and try again. Often, they succeed."

Eddie frowned and corrected him. "Edward."

"It was not so long ago that you insisted your name was Itchy."

"Doctor, you have been calling me either Lieutenant or Edward for a fortnight. I should like to know why that has changed."

The doctor's silhouette became less distinct as he turned to face him. "Your proper name is Anthony. I have a letter from your father that directs me to address you by it."

Eddie quashed his panic and held up his palm. "Triple A—" (i)

"Must you use slang? It's so common."

"My apologies." He let his hand fall. "I didn't mean to exclude you. I suppose I've spent too long in the trenches."

"Exclude me? Slang is coarse, lazy language. You are an officer."

 _And you are a snob_ , Eddie thought. "A non-com. I worked my way up through the ranks. You know that."ii

"You could have been a commissioned officer if you'd cared to."

"I didn't care to."

"Accepting your identity is paramount if you wish to recover. Your father is an important man, Anthony. I must yield to his evaluation of your condition based upon his superior knowledge of your history."

"Anthony is my father. I prefer to be called Edward—Eddie, to my friends."

"Your father says you ran away from home three years ago."

"I did."

"He says you were a rebellious, immoderate and incorrigible youth, suffering recurrent bouts of melancholia and high temper."

This doctor was dumb as a bag of hammers (iii), but if Eddie were to lose his temper now, he knew he would lose this battle. "My father refused to listen to what I wanted to do with my life, and then blamed my reactions on my temperament rather than his provocation."

"He also says you are now but sixteen years old."

Eddie was tempted to call bullshit. He disliked being manipulated and refused to manipulate others. "As I am certain you are well-aware, my birthday is in a couple of days."

"Indeed." The doctor set down a piece of paper on his desk. "But you are still not of legal age to marry without your father's consent."

Every sinew in Eddie's body caught fire, but he showed no outward sign. Bella was the best thing that had ever happened to him and nobody was going to come between them. "Colonel Cullen, Captain McCarty, Captain Stewart and their superiors were perfectly aware that I was underage. It did not prevent any of them from shipping me off to Egypt and the Dardanelles to teach as many men as possible how to kill a man economically. Nor did it prevent the Brass from using me in Gallipoli, the Suvla, the Somme and Beaumont-Hamel to dig tunnels, set landmines, remove them from the field when the lines moved, blow up bridges and construct fortifications, so please don't try to tell me I am incapable of managing my own affairs."

The doctor paced over to Eddie again. "And yet, here you are, in a mental hospital. Would it not be logical to suppose the horrors of war have broken the reason of a boy who was sent at a tender age to commit barbaric acts of destruction?"

Eddie clenched his jaw and counted to ten. He could hardly blame Harris for making such a conclusion when he'd walked right into the man's supposition.

"Why did you run away?"

"I am a musician. My father objected to my aspirations. Once I achieved long pants, he took me into the mines daily to train me for future employment." (iv)

"He says he wants you to take over his business someday."

"As I have repeatedly told him, I have no wish to do so." Eddie was not about to share that he couldn't bear enclosed spaces. It might merit another tick in the column against him.

"You have no wish to assume gainful employment?"

He bit back a curse, shifted in his chair and considered his answer carefully. "Without sight, doctor, I am far more apt to find gainful occupation in music than I am in the mining industry. As my wife and I have extensive savings, we will not have to worry about it for some time."

"Your wife is significantly older than you are."

"That's not very gentlemanly of you."

"It's simple fact. She turned nineteen two weeks ago."

"Oh, dear. Of course she did. And I missed it because I didn't know the date until I got my hearing back. I shall have to make it up to her somehow."

"I daresay she'll understand."

"Yes, she's lovely."

"She does seem an excellent person. But she is still older."

"By a small amount. She also went to work when she was underage. It does not worry me." What was the man getting at?

"Please don't kill the messenger."

"Noted."

"Your father is concerned that your wife is a gold digger."

Eddie clapped his boot heel on the floor. "Hah! Of course he is. You are attempting to be funny, I gather."

"Not at all."

He arched a brow. "Are you aware, sir, that my father mines gold and copper?"

"Oh!" Dr. Harris laughed. "I get your meaning now! I did not make a pun intentionally, I assure you."

"Well, it's irrelevant. Bella and I have plenty of resources to sustain us. I neither want nor need my father's money."

"You cannot blame him, surely, for worrying about her character and background."

"My wife was raised by her eminently respectable aunt in London Society, in a very fine house." Eddie enunciated every syllable, his light Acadian brogue becoming increasingly pronounced. "She is a Senior Nurse with the QAIMNS, and served with distinction for nearly two years at a Commonwealth Base Hospital in Northern France. Her character is beyond reproach and she has substantial financial assets of her own. While I understand my father's misgivings, they are without foundation."

"And if he challenges your marriage?"

"I shall take my wife and disappear."

"What if you're locked up in an asylum?"

Eddie felt his lip tip up. "I'd like to see him try."

"Which brings us full circle. Why are you here?"

Eddie crossed his arms and glared at the floor.

"Come, now. If you want to get out, you must talk to me."

"I wonder," Eddie tapped his foot, "how you would have felt if you were told that your entire regiment fell. That the boys for whom you were responsible all went west in one morning."

"Went west?"

" _Died_ , sir." How could he be around so many soldiers and not know the parlance?

"Well, I don't know. I have never been in that position. But I should hope that I would thank God for preserving my life."

Eddie nodded, seething. "Let's just suppose, doctor, that something tragic happened to you. And then, you can tell me how one ought to sanely react."

"We aren't talking about me."

Eddie crossed his legs. "Are you afraid you won't have an answer for me?"

Dr. Harris pulled up a chair. "All right. Let's hear it. I shall do my best to answer you."

Eddie nodded. "You are responsible for many of the individuals who live and work in this hospital, are you not?"

"I am."

"Splendid. So it's not unrealistic to say that you create and maintain rules designed to keep everyone safe?"

"That is not unrealistic, no."

"Let us suppose, sir, that there was a gas leak discovered here. What would happen?"

"The people in the building would be evacuated and the leak repaired."

"Indeed. So, what if your board of directors, instead of ordering you to evacuate the building, told you to light a match?"

"That is preposterous! It would never happen."

"And that is what my regiment believed, until the Brass ordered us to light the match."

Harris was quiet.

"How do you suppose _you_ would feel, doctor, if your Brass ordered you to _personally_ light the match, and you did it—knowing that it meant that you and everyone close to you would die, leaving orphans and widows and mothers to grieve—only to discover afterward that you were the only one to survive the carnage?"

"But, you weren't the only one to survive Beaumont-Hamel."

"Did anyone else in my troop survive?"

Dr. Harris sighed heavily. "No."

"My platoon?"

"No."

"Bella told me that twelve Blue Puttees survived Beaumont-Hamel. Out of the entire Newfoundland Army, sixty-one men responded to their names at roll call the next morning."

"That is correct."

"Therefore, over 800 soldiers from Newfoundland, alone, fell in one day."

"In all, 66, 000 Allied men died in three hours and the Huns suffered similar casualties."

Eddie sighed and ironed his palms over his thighs. "That's… worse than I thought."

"I am sorry."

Eddie set his hands on his knees and leaned forward. "I am also sorry. And I feel guilty because I, along with countless other officers, followed senseless orders that destroyed almost every man in Beaumont-Hamel. I am sickened by the sheer amount of waste of manpower and resources. The Upper Brass orders soldiers about like so many chess pieces. We are utterly expendable. So tell me, doctor, how would you have felt in my place?"

"Not suicidal."

"It was the shock." He wasn't about to reveal to anyone that he'd thought himself back there. "I thought it was wrong for me to live if my boys all died."

"Do you still feel that way?"

Eddie paused to gather his words. "I talked to Hale."

"Yes?"

"He told me I shouldn't feel guilty, that God saved me so I could come home to Bella. He said the Brass has sent a lot of men to die and it wasn't as though I could choose not to obey orders. He said if I expected him to forgive himself for being a monster, then I would have to forgive myself for surviving."

"Seems like pretty sage advice."

"Yes."

"Why does he think he's a monster?"

Eddie's jaw dropped. "You mean you don't know?"

"Nobody knows what happened to McCarty, Hale, Crowley and Yorkie."

Eddie threw back his head and laughed for a long time. By the time he settled down, he had to wipe tears from his cheeks. Dr. Harris resumed pacing.

"I don't understand what is so funny! These were valuable men. Your friends!"

"Oh," Eddie shook his head solemnly. "I'm not laughing at them, sir. I would never laugh at them. Oh, no. I'm laughing at you."

"At me?" Harris barked.

"Indeed. How wonderful…" He chuckled again.

"What—"

Eddie fell somber. "Have you ever been a soldier?"

"No, but—"

"You do not inspire trust, sir. They are afraid of you."

"Of me?" The doctor sounded thoroughly astonished. "Whatever for?"

Eddie bit his thumb. He felt quite giddy, but the doctor probably couldn't understand what amused him so. "Have you read _Frankenstein_?"

"Naturally. I read it when I was a boy. A most fascinating cautionary tale."

"The damaged man who wanted only to be loved… But people were afraid of him, and judged him a monster."

"That's a simplistic view. It is a morality tale cautioning scientists not to play God."

"It is also a simple story of an imperfect man who longs to be accepted."

"Your point?"

"Hale, McCarty and Yorkie did something horrible in order to survive. They were all good soldiers. They followed orders and they really had no choice but to act as they did. But afterward, they felt monstrous. Yorkie blew his head off and Cap and Jazz stopped eating."

"What did they—?"

"That's their business. But I suspect they want to live. However, to live, they must get past the guilt and they're also afraid their actions will be discovered."

"Why would that matter now?"

He smiled wolfishly. "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps they think they'll be court-marshalled and shot. Or perhaps they're afraid an angry mob will bring torches."

"And you think that's why they won't eat?"

Eddie sighed and shifted in his chair. "What motivates man, doctor?"

"You tell me."

"Love and fear. There is nothing else."

"Anger, jealousy…"

"No. They are a product of fear. Perfect love casts out fear. Without love, one operates based on fear. There is nothing else. If you want them to stop being afraid, you'll have to make them feel safe. You'll have to guarantee they will continue to be accepted. Otherwise, they will never tell you what's wrong."

"But they told you."

"Hale told me. Yes."

"Why did Hale tell _you_?"

"I understand the atrocities of war. You don't."

"I see the casualties of war every day!"

Edward grinned and held out his hands for inspection. "These hands will ne'er be clean." He leaned forward. "You may have seen the casualties of war, but I have created them. These hands made bombs that were used on civilians. These hands slit the throats of horses lamed in battle, and killed suffering dogs that had been shot. These hands threw grenades, shot and bayonetted countless enemies, strangled Turks and Krauts, and snapped the necks of traitors. These hands comforted the dying and dug dead men out of shit-laden muck. And these hands rescued a woman who was being raped, fed starving children, evacuated feeble old Frenchmen and Belgians from battle zones, and wrote deathbed letters for friends." He sat back. "These are good hands, but they would be seen by some as belonging to a monster. No, Doctor. Your hands are clean and soft and have never known evil. And for that, you should thank the Triple Entente (v) soldier every day. I pray you will never have firsthand knowledge of the atrocities of war."

Edward picked up his cane, stood, walked to the door and stopped. "Is there anything else?"

Dr. Harris huffed in frustration. "Edward?"

"Yes?"

"You know I was testing you."

"Lucky me. Did I pass?"

"With flying colours. But I can't let you go home yet."

Eddie nodded. "I didn't suppose you would."

"Next time, I want to talk about your nightmares."

"I bet."

︻┳═一︻┳═一︻┳═一

i **A-A-Ah/Triple A/Ack Ack Ack** : trench slang for "stop" or "desist." From the Morse Code for Stop.

ii Non-commissioned officers ascended through the common ranks. They were more apt to mix with their men. Interestingly, as British non-coms trained and managed men who were often not from their geographical birthplace (example: a Londoner might be put in charge of troops from Yorkshire or Scotland) they quite often became the instruments who carried slang from one group of people to another.

iii Because who needs a whole bag of hammers? Duh. Thank you, Acadians, for your wonderful bounty of expressions.

iv Dressing a male child in **long pants** signaled parental recognition that he was no longer to be babied. Small kiddies of both sexes wore **dresses** up until approximately the 1920s, which probably changed thanks to the invention of rubber training pants. (Young ones: count yourselves lucky if you never had to wear rubber pants. I can still remember how dreadfully uncomfortable they were. And having an accident was extremely messy. Just try to get pee out of rubber pants without getting it everywhere. It's an art. Those moms were brilliant. Seriously, people, thank God and Huggies for Pull-Ups.)

Obviously, it was easier to change diapers if a baby wore a skirt, and easier for a small child to get to the potty. Most children were potty trained by the age of 18 months but children commonly wore dresses until the age of five or six. By the age of seven, boys were put in short pants. This was called **breeching**. By the age of 10 or 11, most boys were presented with long pants and a lot more responsibility.

v **The Triple Entente** was a military alliance that was formed between Russia, Great Britain and France before WW1. It was disbanded when the Bolsheviks took power in Russia in 1917. The Triple Entente was created to counterbalance the enemy **Triple Alliance** that was formed between Imperial Germany, Austrio-Hungary and Italy.


	14. Chapter 14

︻┳═一

Promptly after tea, Isobel was tying on her hat when a knock came at the front hall door. She checked her appearance in the looking glass and opened it. "Hello, Felix." There was a man standing beside him who, although he was of a much smaller build, could only be his brother.

Felix bowed his head. "Good evening, ma'am. It is good to see you smile, I must say."

"Thank ye. Eddie is speaking tae me. He's beginning tae sound like himself, at last."

"That's wonderful news. I'd like you to meet my brother, Demetri Jones."

"Please call me Dem." The blind man held out his hand and Isobel shook it with a smile.

"Felix speaks highly of you, Dem."

"Lovely to meet you, Nurse Masen. I thought perhaps I might come along and meet your husband."

"Oh," Isobel said uncertainly. "That's verra kind of ye, but—"

Felix cleared his throat. "The sooner Eddie understands that he can be productive, the better off he'll be."

"Besides," Dem said, "I can teach you some things that will help him."

"Can ye?"

"Of course." Tapping with his cane, he descended the step, feeling for its back with his heel just as Eddie always did. Dem did it so gracefully that had Isobel not known he was blind, she would not have been able to tell. He stopped on the walk and turned expectantly towards her as she and Felix joined him. Isobel couldn't help but feel a little leery. Was he actually blind?"

"Now, dear lady, I shall ask you to be my eyes as we walk to the hospital."

"All right. What do ye need me tae do?"

"If you will allow the familiarity, ma'am, I should like to see you."

"See me?"

"I see with my hands. May I touch your face?"

"Erm, I suppose."

Dem held up both hands, palms-out, and lightly patted them over Isobel's face. He used his thumbs to trace her brow, her hairline, eyes and mouth, then, slipped his hands to her ears, which he traced with his fingertips, finishing at her chin. Then he touched his fingers to the tops of her shoulders and took a step back.

"You were right, Felix, the lady is quite beautiful."

"Oh!" Isobel blushed hotly.

"I told you, didn't I, Dem?"

"You did. Don't tell Corrie I said so. Now, ma'am, I shall hold onto your arm and as we walk, you will tell me of any obstructions, stairs, messes, hazards and the like."

"Certainly! I do that for Eddie all the time." Except, Eddie hadn't been able to hear her when she'd been doing it, so she'd had to steer him forcefully around every obstruction. It was such a blessing that he'd regained his hearing. Well, it would be in the long run, when he'd recovered his strength.

"Good! Shall we be off?" Dem held out his hand.

Isobel passed it through the crook of her arm so that his hand rested along her forearm. "Yes, please."

"Not like that, ma'am." He slid his hand onto her upper arm and clasped it. "Keep your arm bent but relaxed, please. That way, I can tell when you shift your balance and follow you."

"Really?"

"Yes. It's like dancing. You know what it's like to follow a lead, don't you, ma'am?"

"Yes, I do. Are ye able tae dance, Dem?" Isobel tipped her chin down and blushed but Dem did not appear discomfited by the intrusive question.

"I like to dance as much as the next man, but I do like to have a bit of space around me so I don't kick anybody." He winked at her. "Eddie must learn to walk ably before he can dance. As the guide, it is your job to make sure your charge doesn't fall into a drain, all right?"

"Hah! Yes, sir."

They began to walk. Isobel was fascinated by how well Dem followed her lead. Whenever someone approached them, he smiled, nodded and bade them a good evening.

"May I ask how well ye see, sir?" Isobel asked.

"Why, I cannot see at all."

She blinked rapidly. "But ye just told that couple ye liked their dog."

"I have never met a dog I didn't like. I heard its license jingle against the lead. And dogs often pant, you know, even if they don't bark. I hear the men's footsteps and the swish of ladies' petticoats." He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. "And begging your pardon for saying so, missus, but sometimes I distinguish folks by scent."

"How verra interesting!"

"Yes. There are plenty of ways to compensate for a lack of vision."

"Ach! Mind the lamppost!" She darted to the left and he followed nimbly.

"Thank you."

"Not at all."

And then Demetri tripped over a loose brick and stumbled heavily. Felix caught him before he hit the ground and the pair laughed wheezily together.

"I'm sae sorry!" Isobel yelped, wringing her hands.

"You must always be aware of your surroundings, ma'am," Dem said, "no matter what pretty words your husband whispers in your ear. You are his eyes now."

"I see!"

"Yes, you do!" He smirked saucily. When he took her arm again, he gave her hand a small pat. "I am relying upon your support only because we're going somewhere new to me. If we were in my neighbourhood, I would be the one showing you around."

Gladdened, she gave his arm a squeeze. By the time they made it to the mental hospital, it was growing dark. Isobel set her hand on the front railing and put her foot on the bottom step.

"Hold on," Dem said, and tugged her to his side. "Are there stairs here?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"It's a bit difficult to see. Fifteen, I think."

Dem pressed closer to her side and the outside of his forearm rested against Isobel's ribs. "All right. Keep your tempo slow and even. Step, step, step, step…" Soon, they were at the top. Dem took another step and his foot came down on air. As he set it on the top step again, he waggled his head at her. "Fourteen. That's all right going up, but be very careful going down. Missing a step makes for a bad fall. Does Eddie touch his toes to the stairs going up and press his heel against them when he goes down?"

"Yes!"

"See, that comes naturally. Let's go and see him, shall we?"

︻┳═一

Eddie lay restlessly on top of the bedclothes. He was both exhausted and bored to tears. Just having water forced into them had been enough to whack Jazz and Cap for the day. (i) They'd conked out ridiculously early. If only Eddie could read himself a book. Perhaps Bella would read to him. He sat up eagerly when the door opened and admitted light from the hall. He could hear Isobel's tread and the two Englishmen with her were joshing each other about something. "Bella?"

"Hello, mae darling. I haff brought Felix and his brother, Dem, tae meet you."

"Felix!" Eddie reached out for him. Felix touched his arm in the usual way and then shook his hand fiercely.

"Lieutenant. How wonderful to meet you properly at last!"

"Do call me Eddie. I'm so glad you came!"

"I hope you don't mind my bringing Dem."

"Not at all." Eddie stretched out his hand eagerly but met only air. He waited, his forehead wrinkling, wondering if the man was declining to shake his hand. Then a set of knuckles brushed against his. Dem slipped his cool hand into Eddie's and shook it firmly.

"Hello, Old Sweat. I hope you're up for a walk."

Eddie frowned. "But it's dark now, isn't it?"

"Always dark for me, mate. Fetch your cardigan and shoes. I'm going to teach you some tricks. It's time you learned to be useful again."

Anything to get out of bed. Eddie set his feet to the floor and froze. Dem was blind. Like him. And he spoke of being useful. Useful! Eddie reached for his boots and scrambled to put them on.

Dem set his hand on the top of Eddie's boot and felt it. "Hang on. What sort of shoes are these for a blind man?"

"They're army boots," Eddie said. Dem knocked on one sole.

"You need to get some shoes that are a bit thinner on the bottom. More flexible. Not so thin that you'll hurt your feet if you step on a stone, but just enough that you can feel the ground underneath you."

"Okay."

"You can tie your own boots? That's good."

"I don't need help to dress or eat," Eddie said proudly.

"Can you make your missus a cup of tea, a coddled egg with toast, and marmalade?"

"No…?"

"You shall."

Something inside Eddie fluttered to life and warmed him. Even if he couldn't see, Dem, Felix and Bella weren't going to let him languish in bed. He might be an Old Sweat but that didn't mean he wanted to behave like an invalid.

Dem turned to Bella. "All right, ma'am. I'm going to take Eddie out and about. You may observe if you like, but I don't want you to talk."

"All right!"

"Good show. May I have a look at you, Eddie?"

"Um, yeah. Sure."

"You start with the cheekbones and brow." To Eddie's surprise, Dem placed his hands upon him. "Then, the nose and mouth, the shape of the face, and finally, the ears, jaw, chin and distance to the shoulders."

"I see."

"Gawd, Felix!" Dem yelled abruptly, making Eddie jump. "Have you landed us with a couple of picture stars? Handsome pair, aren't they?"

Eddie hoped Dem couldn't feel his blush.

"Actually, Eddie played the piano in Vaudeville," Bella supplied.

"Did you, now?"

"Yes. May I… get close enough to see you?"

"Turn about's fair play, isn't it?" Dem rested his hands on the knob of his long cane.

Eddie got close enough to Dem that he could feel his breath. He reckoned Dem to be in his late thirties. He had dark hair, cut short, with good sideburns but no beard, and silvery-looking eyes.

"Do you want to have a squiz at me, too?" Felix asked.

Eddie flexed his hands. "Would you mind?"

"Not in the least. Most people don't mind as long as you ask them first." Eddie got a good look at Felix's broad, jovial face. His eyes were shiny brown, his hair was dark and curly like Cap's, but his features were aquiline and his complexion olive. Eddie supposed him to be 35 years old.

"Are you Italian?"

"Our grandmamma was." Dem smirked knowingly. "Felix looks more like her than I, poor sod. Always somebody who wants to know if he's a fascist, right, Felix?"

"Only ask you though, don't they, Dem?" Felix growled.

"Well, you are bigger than they are." He nudged Eddie companionably. "We're as loyal to the king as you are. So you can see a little, can you? Enough to distinguish skin tones?"

Eddie nodded. "Up close, I can see quite well. Things are only a bit blurry. But everything gets very blurry if it's more than four inches away from me and after a couple of feet, I can barely make out any shapes at all. The picture goes dark and grainy. And there are small black spots that block some parts of my view. It's frustrating."

"Does bright light hurt?"

"Yes."

"Can you pick out your wife from a distance?"

"My wife, my dog, objects that are familiar, but only because I recognize their movement. Being able to hear again helps me know when people are there."

Dem nodded slightly. "Have you talked to the doctor about your chance of recovery?"

"Not yet but I don't think there's much chance of me regaining my sight. Shrapnel, you know."

"Does the thought upset you?"

"Sometimes."

"Only sometimes?"

Eddie shrugged. "Yeah. I…"

"You needn't explain if you don't want to." Dem gripped Eddies' shoulder and gave it a bracing shake. "Righty-o! Come on, Old Sweat. Time to put you through your paces. And you may ask me whatever you wish. There is no question too personal."

"Thank you. Are we leaving the building?"

"Not tonight, but we will soon enough."

For the next three hours, Dem marched Eddie upstairs and downstairs, to the canteen and the lounge, to Dr. Harris's office and the water closet, while Eddie asked enough questions to make him hoarse. Dem showed Eddie how to make better use of his cane, how to feel the movement of a guide, and how to differentiate between individuals. Bella began to yawn and fade.

"I think I'll go up to yer room and sit down for a bit, if ye dinnae mind."

"Do you mind if I stay down here for a bit?"

"No, but I maun work in the morning. I cannae stay late."

"I won't be too long." Eddie stooped to place a kiss on Bella's forehead. "Thank you for bringing Felix and Dem."

"Yer welcome, love."

Eddie, Dem and Felix practiced independence for another hour and Eddie's questions got rather more personal. Felix and Eddie were snickering over the rather improbable position in which Dem's next-to-be-born child was made when Eddie's night nurse marched up to them in a huff. "It is time you were in bed, Lieutenant. You and your friends are making noise and the men all need their sleep."

"I'm sorry, Nurse," he said, but he couldn't be too abashed. He climbed the stairs up to his room with no assistance whatsoever!

When he opened the door, the only sound that greeted him was deep breathing. He crossed the room quietly and discovered Bella sound asleep on top of his bed. "Oh, dear. How careless of me. She's worn out. Bella? Bella, wake up, darling. You need to go home to bed."

She didn't stir at all. Eddie began to feel a bit tense.

"Why don't you just leave her be?" Felix murmured. "The night nurse won't likely check again until four."

"Won't I get her into awful trouble?"

"Not going to get lovey-dovey, are you?"

He felt his cheeks redden. "Of course not." Although, given the opportunity, he wouldn't turn it down.

Felix shook his head. "I wouldn't worry."

Eddie was abruptly anxious to go to bed. He reached out for Felix's hand. "Thank you so much for coming. You and Dem."

"We'll come again in a few days, all right?"

"Yes, please." Eddie reached out for Dem and gave him a hug. "Thank you."

You're welcome, mate. When you get out of here, you'll have to come to work with me. Play some pianos. Maybe an organ or harpsichord, too."

"I would love that."

"See you soon."

"Goodnight." Eddie listened to them go. Then he peeled off his cardigan and unlaced his boots. He slipped into the bed as quietly as possible, wrapped his arm around Bella, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Eddie?"

"I had the most wonderful time. Do you know Dem has three children and another on the way? Do you know how he keeps track of them? His wife threads bells on their shoes. Only, little Nancy has learned to walk without making a noise, can you imagine?"

"Mmf. Go tae sleep."

But Eddie couldn't get to sleep for a long time. His head was too full of possibility. Of being self-sufficient. Of employment, new friends, and children with bells on their shoes. It was such a pretty picture that it only belatedly occurred to him that he was planning to live. For a moment, guilt stabbed at him, but then he remembered Bella's joy when he'd sung to her and told her he could hear. And he remembered making her cry. He couldn't purposefully make her cry again.

Eddie Masen whispered his sins and repented them. He would live for Bella, no matter what difficulties the future might bring. And he would live each day in remembrance of the best boys on earth, boys who had bravely followed him into hell.

Eddie had been to hell and he wasn't going to remain there. His brothers in arms wouldn't want that. It was time to dry his eyes and come back. He promised himself he would make the Blue Puttees proud. All he had to do now was convince the doctor to let him out. He drew his wife close and thanked God for her generosity of heart, closed his eyes, and wondered just how he might make himself useful. There had to be some way that he could continue to serve…

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

i Whack: to wear out, exhaust.

 **First, I want to thank all Canada's allied military personnel for making such huge sacrifices so that we can enjoy our freedom. Second, my son's angioplasty went well and we're all home. He'll have to have at least one more, but he's stable for the next six months. Thank you so much for your thoughts and prayers.**

 **Finally, I HAVE A BOOK! It's a spicy Comedy Romance.** _ **Moms on Missions**_ **is now available internationally on Kindle for $2.99US and is free on Kindle Unlimited. Review copies are also available. You don't need a Kindle device to read MOMs. If you click on the box below the cover that says READ NOW ON ANY DEVICE, you will be able to download a free app onto your phone, tablet or computer. Please come and meet Vince.**

 _ **Artist Vince Russo wants to advance his career but his devout mother, Diana, wants grandchildren. Vince lives in Niagara Falls and he doesn't even date!**_ __ _ ****_

 _ **Diana joins the Moms on Missions ("MOM"), who strive to better the lives of their clients' kids. MOM installs Vince's fantasy girl upstairs in the duplex where he lives.**_ __ _ ****_

 _ **Their pick for Vince is sick of dancing to her mother's tune, so she certainly won't admit she finds her sensitive, playful neighbour sexy. However, she'd love to make him her pseudo-boyfriend to get MOM off her back.**_ __ _ ****_

 _ **Will these young rebels come together organically, or is there no hope for their moms?**_


	15. Chapter 15

**Dear Fandom: I have removed my award-winning novel-length story,** _ **Cats & Dogs**_ **, from Inkitt in accordance with Kindle's TOS. On June 15** **th** **, I will be pulling the original short story from FFNet, ADF and TWCS to be expanded, edited and revamped for publication. As the original short story was written for charity, I will donate part of the proceeds of each book sold to pediatric cancer research. Love and thanks, Jmolly.**

Chapter 15:

︻┳═一

 **September 28, 1916**

︻┳═一

"Bella!" someone English hissed urgently. "Bella, wake up!"

Isobel squirmed. She was stiff and sore, but heat was pouring off Eddie. She tucked her face into his warm back and sighed in contentment. It was so lovely to sleep when there was a lull in the fighting.

"Nurse Masen!" a woman—Matron White—barked. "Attention!"

Isobel sat up so fast she almost fell off her cot. That's when she realized she was not in Ypres, but asleep on a hospital bed, boots and all, next to her husband. She pressed her palms to her flaming cheeks.

Katie looked furtively toward the door. "Get up now, before the doctor catches you! He's on his way here."

"Oh, lord, Katie. What time is it?"

"Four in the morning."

"Hell! I'm late for work!" Isobel climbed off the cot and brushed down her skirts, but her hair was hopelessly tangled. "I'm going tae be dismissed!" She spied Eddie's comb on the night table and tried to run it through her hair but all she did was make more knots.

Katie winced and fisted her hands in her apron. "I'm sorry! I was going to wake you earlier but he was sleeping so peacefully. Didn't cry out once. I didn't realize—"

"Can ye help me with my hair? Lord, where's my Dora Cap?"

"Here, on the floor!" Katie snatched it up and dropped it on the bed. Bella sat down on the wooden chair while Katie pulled her hair into three sections and braided it untidily. Eddie rolled over.

"What's going on?" he grumbled.

"I'm late for work!"

"There!" Katie said. "I can't get all your hair under your cap, but it will have to do."

Isobel leapt up but Eddie grasped her hand. "Don't worry about it, darling. If they let you go, we'll be fine."

"All right. Thank ye, love." She marched out of his room, down the stairs, through the foyer and out. Mercifully, there was a Tillings Co. motor bus pulling up outside the main entrance. (i) Isobel paid her fare and dropped into a seat with a sigh. Time crawled while her heart beat in her throat. When she reached Number Six Hospital, she jumped out, wet her feet in the gutter, and ran all the way to the door.

Matron Doyle was standing right inside, scowling. She wore her black hair screwed back tight and her dark eyes bored into Isobel over her hooked nose. The youngest nurses believed her a witch.

Isobel blushed and looked at the floor. "I'm sae sorry I'm late, Matron. It willnae happen again!"

"Running is unseemly, madam." Matron's boots clicked on the tiles as she made a circle around Isobel. "Your clothing is rumpled, your cap is crooked and dirty, and your hair looks atrocious. Why are you late?"

"I beg yer pardon, ma'am. My husband took a turn for the worse and he is in hospital again."

Matron Doyle raised her beetle brows. "This hospital?"

"No, ma'am." Please God, she would not demand to know which hospital. Eddie's reputation would be ruined.

"Why not? It is closest to your lodgings, is it not?"

Isobel couldn't look at her. "I don't know, ma'am. It's where they had the space, I suppose." The matron couldn't find fault with that; all the hospitals were over-capacity.

"You were there all night?"

"Yes, ma'am. I have been going straight from work. I thought I was going tae lose him."

The matron clicked her tongue. "I don't know why you were permitted to marry and remain in service. You should be tending to your husband."

"Ma'am, I was going tae ask for leave."

She flicked her wrist toward the doors. "Go on, then."

"Ma'am?"

Matron Doyle's expression softened momentarily and her eyes became girlishly pretty. "I'll call Betty in to cover for you. Seven days, Isobel."

Isobel's heart soared. "Yes, ma'am! Thank you, ma'am!" Isobel marched for the exit before the matron could change her mind.

"Go home and change before you see him. Wear something pretty!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

︻┳═一

"Breakfast!" Katie sang as she wheeled the squeaky tea trolley into Eddie's room. He turned from the window, his hands clasped casually behind his back.

"You're dressed!" Katie peeped.

"I will not wear the jacket or puttees again. I want my wife to bring me Muftis (ii)."

"The doctor will expect you to wear the uniform if you want to go home."

"I've served long enough. In the unlikely event that the army isn't done with me, I can heartily state that I'm done with it."

"I… see." Katie's tone indicated that she was holding back her disapproval. (iii)

Eddie sighed. Birds were singing outside and thanks to his foolish behaviour, the windows were nailed shut. "I'm sorry I've been rude, Nurse. It was wrong of me to take my troubles out on you and Isobel."

"Apology accepted," she said stiffly. "Do you feel better?"

"Yes, thank you. Did you mention breakfast?"

"I did, indeed." He could hear the smile enter her voice. "If you wouldn't mind me setting the other men's trays on your bed, you could use the trolley for a table and sit by the window."

"That would be very nice." When it was all arranged, Katie took the lid off his tray and the delicious scent of a proper English breakfast made his stomach rumble. "Thank you."

"Do you need help to eat?"

Eddie felt his lips turn up. "I've been blind for three months, you know."

"Of course you can manage," Katie said ruefully.

"It would help if you'd tell me where everything is on the tray."

"Ah, yes. Your cup of tea is on the far right. Would you care for lemon or milk?"

"No, thank you. I like it strong."

"Twelve to six o'clock is eggs and chips. Fried tomato from six to eight, and a lovely banger from nine to twelve."

"Would you mind cutting that for me, please?"

"Not at all. And your toast is buttered already. It's to your left."

"Thank you, Katie."

"How'd you know my name?" she asked as she cut up the sausage.

"I'm blind, not deaf. You and Bella are friends, eh?"

Katie tittered in embarrassment and went to speak to Hale and McCarty while Eddie tucked into his food. It was not as tasty as the fare Mrs. Biggins provided, but it was still hot and fresh, and he was ravenous. He packed it in while Katie argued with the other men about eating. Hale began to retch and McCarty started whimpering. Eddie sighed and clenched his jaw. He finished his mouthful, gobbled up the last bit of his sausage, rose, and covered his tray. He stomped over to the nurse, who was sitting between Hale and McCarty's beds.

"Just try a little sip," she pleaded with McCarty. Eddie snapped his fingers loudly.

"Stand aside, Nurse. And don't you dare take anyone's tray away. Especially mine."

"Yes, sir," Katie scrambled out of the chair. Eddie took her place.

"Hale," he barked. Both men quieted. "I'm eating my breakfast and you're putting the kybosh on my appetite. I can't eat with all that fuss. What were we talking about?"

"Guilt?" he murmured.

McCarty just lay there, unable to move. It fucking killed Eddie to know the former strongman was so weak and broken. Did the man even weigh as much as Bella? Eddie gritted his teeth and glared at Jasper.

"And what did you tell me about being self-indulgent?"

"That you…shouldn't feel guilty for following orders."

"And were you and Cap following orders when you got trapped behind the Re-entrant?"

"Well, yeah."

"What did I tell you?"

"That… I did what I had to do."

"Yes. And now, you're going to do what you have to do again, so your poor mother doesn't lose you." Eddie half-turned in his chair. "Katie, where's the tray?"

"Right here. It has lovely chips and—"

"They gave him a full breakfast? And the doctor thinks _we're_ mad?"

"Erm…"

"Put the eggs and chips on my plate. And the banger, if there is one. I want everything off Hale's tray but toast and tea. Give him the rest of my toast. And put sugar in the tea."

"Yes, Lieutenant."

While she arranged Hale's breakfast, Eddie got his hand under Hale's upper arm and helped him to sit up.

"Are you really going to eat all that?" Hale asked.

"It's a sin to waste food. Besides, I've missed enough meals. I'm ravenous all the time. I don't know how you two could do it for so long."

"You get used to it." (iv)

"You're not used to it, or you wouldn't get your wind up every time food was offered."

Katie set Hale's tray on his lap. Hale didn't move to take any toast. "Let me help you," Katie said.

"No," Eddie said. "He can do it himself."

"But… he shakes."

"If I'm blind and I can feed and dress myself, then this sap can hold a piece of toast. Now, Nurse, you'd better not be telling me that McCarty's tray has a full English breakfast on it, or I'll pitch a fit."

Katie took the lid off the tray. "No. It's just broth and some tea."

"Good. Give it here." Eddie took the tray on his lap. "Thank you. You're dismissed."

"I'm…?"

"Thank you, we can manage."

"Erm… Right." Katie's boots clicked on the floor. When she was gone, Eddie leaned toward McCarty—so close, he could see him almost clearly.

"Do you know what happened on the first day in Beaumont-Hamel, at the Somme?" he asked quietly.

McCarty shook his head.

"I remembered. All of it. Now I see it whenever I close my eyes."

McCarty blinked as if to confirm he had the same problem.

"Our manner of warfare is obsolete. Trench fighting's no good against whizzbangs and machine guns. Fucking Krauts have got heavy artillery now, as well."

A spark of agreement entered the captain's eyes.

"The Tommies had fought them for a week, and then it got quiet. Nothing from their side. Our Brass got complacent. They suspected the Tommies had killed all the Krauts so they ordered us to take the enemy trenches. Just in case, they set eleven huge bombs all the way down the line. The second biggest bomb was placed at Beaumont-Hamel, at the Hawthorn Ridge Redoubt. (v) My sappers tunnelled more than a mile toward the enemy lines and placed forty-five tonnes of explosive—if you can credit it. The smoke went for miles when it blew. Shook our trenches, it was so huge."

McCarty nodded but grimaced.

"I know. The men all laughed and cheered when it went off but my sappers and I were worried. My boys and I set a bunch of small mines to be used against an assault, just in case. But what actually happened with the big bombs was this: one of the British commanders got too full of himself. All the bombs were supposed to go off at 07:28 but the fucker thought he could help the other divisions more by taking hold of the Ridge first. The First Wave of Tommies was supposed to go over the top as soon as the Hawthorn bomb went off but the rest of the fucking Brass—all down the line—hesitated. The ten big bombs went up eight minutes after the Hawthorn, but the Brass didn't send the Tommies over for _ten_ minutes after the Hawthorn and that gave the Krauts just enough notice to move and load their heavy artillery. The fucking Krauts were hiding in their bunkers the whole time to fool us. And when the First Wave went over the top, the bastards mowed them down with machine guns and whizzbangs. And you know what happened next?"

McCarty shook his head, his eyes full of dread.

"Our goddamned Upper Brass was determined to take the trenches at any cost, so they sent the next troop over. And the next. And the next. It was the most senseless thing I've ever seen. Line after line after line of men was just fucking extinguished. (vi) There was a very tall fellow—a terrific soldier—who refused to budge and his commanding officer shot him in the head for treason to set an example. (vii) Seemed a pretty effective way to prevent a retreat. It certainly worked for me.

"The Newfoundland Regiment was to be the Third Wave. My platoon was to go over at the end of it. St. John's Road was so narrow that we had to go single file. (viii) By the time we reached the front of the communications trenches, they were so full of dead men that the Second Wave men were climbing out early in order to gain ground. That's when we discovered our own barbed wire hadn't been cut and our boys were getting caught in it. It was ridiculous."

McCarty blew out his breath.

"All I could think of was my wife. She'd begged me not to go to Gallipoli and I made it through the flood just to end up facing Lewis G. Everyone was terrified. Some of the men were resigned, and some of them huddled in the muck. Some of them shit themselves. Some of them wept and some of them clutched each other. I even saw a pair of men kiss like lovers. And Captain Stewart didn't say a word, because we all knew it was goodbye." Eddie could see it clear as day. "I watched Cap Stewart go over the top with his platoon. They didn't get fifty feet…

"I don't know why I betrayed my boys by taking them over. My job was to keep those men alive. Part of me just wanted it to end, I suppose. I reminded my boys where the mines were, and I prayed with them, and when Lefty blew the whistle, I led them over the top. We found a gap in the wire and I called my boys through. Most of us got pretty far compared to the others because I had them keep low, dodge and weave. I was yelling at Dildo, because the idiot ran straight for the closest landmine. I chased after him, cursing like the devil. He turned to face me and stomped on it. His smile is the last thing I remember. That creepy shell shock smile, you know?"

Cap nodded.

"He became shrapnel, see? And now, I'm the dildo. Ironic."

Cap McCarty touched Eddie's hand sympathetically.

"So, Cap, do you know how many men survived out of my regiment, the Blue Puttees?"

Cap shook his head.

"Twelve. Bella told me. And because I lost my hearing temporarily, I didn't find out until September sixteenth. All my own boys went west. I haven't even written to my mother or to the families of any of my men. That's how much of a goldbrick I am. And my entire army is dead (ix)."

"My men are dead," McCarty said.

"You have two men right here, and we need you. So you'd better bloody-well start to take care of us." Eddie picked up the tablespoon, dipped it in the broth, and held it up.

McCarty leaned forward, bit the spoon, and swallowed.

︻┳═一

Isobel stood outside the shop and gnawed on her lip. It had been many years since she'd bought a gown. She knew she ought to write to her aunt and ask her to post some of her things, but they were all desperately out of style and Isobel dearly wanted the summer dress in the shop window. The dress that wasn't the least bit practical and now off-season. And if she bought it, even though it was marked down, she'd need new undergarments, too. And shoes. Pretty shoes, not the tan boots she wore for nursing. And possibly a new shawl.

It wasn't as if she couldn't spare the money, but…

It was lace. A bone-coloured cotton batiste, with a floral pattern around the middle, the cuffs and the hem of the skirt. It was a bit blousy on top and the full, Three-quarter length skirt curled inward slightly, like an inverted wine goblet. With the right ribbon sash, it would convert from daytime to evening. She could imagine the look on Eddie's face if she wore it for him. And he would enjoy the feel of the soft cotton. His fingers would explore.

Isobel blushed but held her head up. She would need new silk stockings, too.

︻┳═一

She left the shop in a daze, wondering how she could be so daring. Well, she _had_ gone to war and nobody in her acquaintance had approved of that. And the women who had remained at home wore all manner of strange outfits. Those who did the heavy jobs actually wore trousers, and special costumes were now available for motoring, golfing, cycling, tennis and rinking. (x) Not to mention that the new ladies' swimming attire was designed so one could actually swim in it.

She had purchased one. A swimming costume. It was black, of one piece that would cover her from chest to mid-thigh, and would cling to her form. Just thinking about wearing it made her blush. (xi)

Her packages were heavy so she called out to a young lad, who agreed to carry them to her lodgings for a haypenny. (xii)

According to the saleslady, aside from military-style fashions, the lingerie dress was all the rage with young ladies. Not that Isobel had ever been a fashionable young lady. Indeed, her aunt was always chastising her for her lack of style. But the dress was wonderfully lightweight and promised to be liberating.

It was of course a few inches shorter than anything she had ever owned. Its silhouette was slimmer than her nursing uniform, yet not restrictive. And the garment wasn't lined. Instead, her pretty new blush pink camisole and slip would show through. Besides that, the corset was significantly… less cumbersome.

The saleslady told her that doctors now suspected the old-fashioned corsets were bad for a woman's health. With the new corset, Isobel's figure would change utterly.

If Isobel wanted to alter the appearance of the dress, she need only purchase a new camisole and petticoat in a different colour. For that reason, she had justified the expense.

She reached the boarding house and the boy set down her shopping next to her door. Mrs. Biggins popped her head out of her flat and called up the stairs. "Hello, my dear. You're home early. Is everything all right?"

Isobel handed the boy his haypenny.

"Ta very much!" He tipped his hat and rushed downstairs.

Isobel unlocked her door and called over her shoulder to Mrs. Biggins. "Matron gave me a week's leave so I can look after Eddie."

"How is he? Is he in better spirits?"

"He's verra much improved. We had a lovely visit with two of his friends last night."

"Oh, that's good to hear. Do you think he'll want more visitors?"

"I expect so. It's rather a sad place. I shall ask him when ye may come."

"Mr. Biggins and I should like to see him."

"He wants tae come home."

"Good!"

Isobel hugged herself. "Mrs. Biggins?"

"Yes?"

She ducked her head. "I… I dinnae ken what I was thinking, but I bought myself a new dress."

Mrs. Biggins' brow furrowed. "Can you not afford it?"

Isobel shifted from one foot to the other. "I can, but—"

"What is the issue then, my dear?"

"My auntie and my mam would find it… scandalous." She chanced a look at her landlady. "It's one of thae new summer dresses."

Mrs. Biggins pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I've heard they're much more comfortable when it's hot, but the weather will soon grow chill. Will your husband disapprove?"

That possibility had never occurred to Isobel. Perhaps Eddie wouldn't want her going about town in it. Isobel clasped her hands together and tried not to wring them. "I dinnae ken."

Mrs. Biggins smiled kindly. "Go and put it on and I shall give you my opinion."

"Thank ye, ma'am."

︻┳═一

"Ooh, that's lovely, that is," Mrs. Biggins bade Isobel to twirl. "You'll get a bit of wear out of it before the weather grows cold, and then you can use a darker lining under it for evenings and wear a shawl."

"I bought a new shawl, too."

"Cashmere?"

"No, just cotton with a fringe." Isobel unfurled the large rectangle and held it up. The background was sky blue, the fringe was forest green and the shawl was covered with large pink cabbage roses.

"Will he be able to see this?"

"I hope so."

"You look charming. It's sure to put some heart in him."

"Do ye think so?"

"Indeed. You must tell me what happens when he sees you."

"He's never seen me in civilian clothes before."

"Then he shall surely think you a lovely bride. Will you have a bit of tea and toast with melted cheese before you go?"

"Oh, that sounds a treat."

︻┳═一

"Katie, do ye know where Eddie is?"

The nurse clasped her hands and beamed. "Oh, Bella. What a pretty dress!"

Isobel smoothed down her skirt. "Thank you."

"Eddie's down in the lounge with his mates."

"His mates? He knows people here?" Isobel silently thanked God.

"The officers sharing his room. Hale and McCarty. Evidently, they served together in Ypres."

 _How wonderful._ "Yes, in Canada's First Division. He's written to me about them before. I wondered why he had roommates."

Katie nodded energetically. "Eddie's so much improved today that he's helping his friends to feel better, too. They've been together all morning. The doctor is thrilled."

"Really? Thank God."

"Yes. Before you go down, brace yourself. Hale and McCarty are in far worse shape than Eddie."

Isobel felt her forehead crease. "They won't die, will they?"

"No. Not if they can get past the horrors."

That sounded ominous. "All right. I'll see you later."

"Good day!"

Isobel gripped the railing firmly and clacked down the stairs in her new blue pumps. Since coming out at sixteen, she'd rarely had occasion to wear such insensible shoes. She crossed the tile floor to the lounge's door, peeked through the window and stopped. The air was hazy with smoke and she could faintly smell burning leaves.

"Oh, bother." She braced herself and entered. The odour of cannabis overpowered her. There were at least twenty uniformed men present, most of them smoking.

Eddie was not smoking. He was sitting, dressed in his shirt, suspenders and trews, with his arms around two emaciated officers, with his eyes closed, his legs stretched out but relaxed, and his head lolling against the high back of the sofa. An empty wheelchair sat next to the trio. Both of his companions –their heads resting on his shoulders—were bracing burning cannabis cigarettes perilously close to their laps. They were pretty out of it. How high was Eddie?

"It's a Gibson Girl!" one of the men across the room exclaimed, pointing at Isobel. The blond, wavy-haired man on Eddie's right opened black, sleepy eyes and blinked at her. His left eye drifted shut again. Part of the left side of his face was gone and he was horrifically scarred.

"Holy cow," he said, and gave Eddie a nudge. "Hey, Mace, have we gone west?"

"Can't be dead," the older man with curly dark hair grumbled. "I can still see your pug-ugly mush." He raised his cigarette, drew on it, and exhaled his smoke right in Eddie's face. Eddie opened his eyes, which were entirely black, the right pupil marred into an irregular shape. He frowned at Isobel even though she was standing right at his feet. He tilted his head slightly to the right and stared at her with his better eye. Both eyes began to smoulder.

"Bella?" he purred.

"Hello, sweetheart."

"You're not wearing your uniform."

"No."

"I'm not hallucinating, am I?"

"No."

He didn't attempt to straighten up. He patted the blond man on the good side of his face. "This is PBI Jasper Hale, from Hamilton, Ontario."

The man gave her a sloppy salute with his cigarette. "Hey, gorgeous."

"Ensign."

Eddie patted the other man. "And this is Cap Emmett McCarty. Where you from, Cap?"

"Trana."

"Toronto. Fancy that." Eddie gave the Captain's shoulder a bit of a shake.

McCarty extended his hand. "Enchanté."

"Captain."

The Captain kept hold of her hand. Isobel was starting to feel a wee bit strange. Floaty.

"Man, Mace, you are the goopiest (xiii) dildo I've ever met," Hale said. "Why the hell did you try to off yourself?"

"Moment of insanity, Jazz."

"Got that right."

"Dildo's in my eyes so I can't see my wife."

"I'll look at her for ya."

Eddie snorted and flicked Ensign Hale on the ear.

"Eddie's my son now," McCarty told Isobel. "He needs somebody to teach him common sense." He swung her hand to and fro, and then released it.

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Hah! This from the man who starved himself for nearly a month?"

"I could eat," Hale said.

"Some bread would be nice," McCarty said.

"Okay." Eddie placed his hands on top of the men's heads and lurched to his feet. "I'll go recon some food. There must be a kitchen… somewhere in this mausoleum."

"Food for all of us!" one of the men bellowed.

"Hear, hear!" the group of men answered.

"Good boy." McCarty stared at Eddie. "He's gonna go far."

Hale nodded. "Yeah."

Eddie clasped Isobel's arm and stepped gingerly toward the door as if he didn't know where to find the floor. They left the room and Isobel shut the door. Wisps of smoke seeped out around the edges, and then dissipated. Eddie took a deep breath of the clear air and ended up with his face pressed in the crook of her neck.

"Mmm… You smell good."

She could feel him, hard against her thigh. She wanted to crawl inside his shirt with him. "Thank you."

"They didn't tell me they were gonna get us inebriated."

Isobel couldn't quite understand what Eddie was talking about or why it mattered. "Who?"

"Katie. And Doc Whosisname."

"Harris?"

"Yeah, him." Eddie peered around at the empty lobby, took a deep breath and bellowed, "Nurse?" making Isobel jump. One of the yeomen came running.

"Lieutenant, you should be in the lounge."

"Nah, going with my Bella. My wife, see?"

She bobbed her head and grinned. "Hello."

"McCarty and Hale want food. All the poor bloody inebriates are… hungry."

The yeoman's jaw dropped and then she smiled from ear-to-ear. "I'll see they're given something."

"McCarty wants bread."

"Thank you!" The yeoman ran away at an indecent speed.

"What's all that about?" Isobel wondered aloud.

"They wouldn't eat," Eddie said blithely. "Starved themselves for weeks. Jazz tried a few times but he just hacked it back up. Cap wouldn't eat at all."

"Why?"

"Crowley went west and they ate him."

Her eyes flared wide. "Dear lord."

"I guess there are worse things than being blown up. I fancy a walk. Take me out to the park?"

"That would be grand. I need tae clear my head."

Eddie giggled like a loon. The main door opened, just as they reached it, and he hopped back a step.

"What's sae funny?"

"Not many clear heads here."

"True."

"Ah, Lieutenant," Dr. Harris said, removing his hat. "How are you today?"

Eddie grinned lopsidedly. "High."

"Yes, hello. How are you feeling?"

"I dunno, odd. I'm high. Been squashed up on the chesterfield (xiv) all morning with the cuddly Canadians. I need some air."

Dr. Harris' nostrils quivered and he raised a brow. "I see. Lovely day for a walk. You have half an hour before dinner."

"Perfect. Goodbye."

Isobel hummed a laugh. "Do ye need yer cane, husband?"

"Nah. I've got you." Somehow, they managed to weave their way down the steps and onto the path around the hospital that led to the garden, which was heavily treed and green with moss. Fragrant late roses and decaying peonies sprawled onto the path, which was restful and dim.

"I swear I just saw the White Rabbit." Isobel peered under the greenery.

"As long as it wasn't the Red Queen. (xv) Enough men have lost their heads. Is there a bench anywhere?" Eddie put his hand on the small of her back. She felt wonderfully safe for the first time in days.

"I havnae seen one so far." It was quite a while before they came across one, almost hidden in a leafy bower.

"Ah, here's a bench, Eddie."

"Excellent. I want a gander (xvi) at you while you're all dolled-up."

"Eddie…"

"All I want is a squiz." He felt his way over to the cold stone bench and sat, pulling Isobel to stand between his knees. "Is anyone around?"

Isobel looked up and down the hedge. "I dinnae think so."

"I can't hear anyone." His fingers skimmed over the lace on her hips. He ran his hands all over her and his breath picked up. He worked his fingertip through a gap in the lace and felt her pink underthings. "What is this?"

"Petticoat and chemise."

"Silk. What's under them?"

"Nothing."

"Mmm. Corset?"

Eddie's palms were warm as they travelled over her. Her body was warm so she spread her legs so wide they touched his knees. "I didnae wear it."

He gaped at her. "Is it my birthday?"

"Day after tomorrow."

He reached for the hem of her dress and began to collect the lace in his hands. "Happy birthday to me."

"Eddie, ye'll—"

"Hush! I'm opening my present." He pushed the gathered skirt against her waist and she automatically clutched it. "What a wonderful colour. Like your backside after a good squeeze."

Isobel knew she ought to be offended. She had obviously spent too much time in the army because Eddie's directness appealed to her. He hooked his hand under her slip and placed it between her legs. Isobel bit her lip to keep from crying out as he stroked her.

"So wet for me, Bella. I want you. Now."

She rested his forehead against his. "God, Eddie, please."

He popped the buttons on his trousers, freed himself, and lifted the light petticoat. With one hand, he held himself steady. With the other, he supported her while she straddled his legs and sank down onto him. They moaned as their flesh met. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he hugged her tightly around the middle.

"I love your passion," he growled in her ear. "I'm so glad you're not cold."

"I dinnae shock ye, then?"

Eddie laughed softly. "You often surprise me. It's wonderful." He rocked her, whispering shocking praise in her ear, until they had to cling harder, and when it all became too much, she threw back her head and gasped. He bit her chin. As she convulsed around him, he clenched his jaw and arched up, spilling inside her with a strangled cry.

Chests heaving, they embraced ear-to-ear. She rested her chin on his shoulder and he placed his hand gently on the back of her head.

"I'm sorry for what I did, Isobel."

"Dinnae ever do it again, Eddie."

Somewhere in the garden, a bird sang cheerily. "I must figure out what I'm meant to do with my life now."

He kissed her ear, her cheek and jaw. Then, with a sigh, Eddie nudged her to get up, and buttoned his trousers. Isobel let her skirts fall and smoothed them straight. She settled beside him on the bench and he interlocked their fingers. They sat together quietly.

"Is that an English robin?" he asked after some minutes.

"Yes." It was a lovely sound, made more special by the fact that at the moment, no sounds of bombs were being carried to them on the wind.

"Our robins aren't like them. They're big and their breasts are dark orange. The song isn't the same."

"Oh?"

"I miss home."

"Newfoundland?"

"No. Our lodgings. They smell like clean linen, violets and wood polish. And good, strong tea. And you. And wholesome cooking."

"I miss having ye there. So do the Bigginses. And Private Barker lies by the door and waits for ye."

"He'll be missing his ice lolly."

Isobel laughed. "Yes."

"Can you bring him tomorrow?"

"I'll have to ask if it's allowed. Some of the men…"

"I know. This can be a dark place. Practically all of them are scared, but the ones who are really frightening are the few who aren't afraid."

"What about your friends?"

He pressed his lips together and angled his face away. "They have to live."

"I know, love."

"I've lost…" He cleared his throat. "Newfoundland has lost an entire generation of men."

"I'm sae sorry."

"Why did it happen?"

She squeezed his hand but did not attempt to answer.

"Why did I live, Bella? Why me? Why?" His voice cracked.

"I dinnae ken, darling. But I prayed ye would come home tae me. When Colonel Cullen told me ye'd been found, I knew it was a miracle and I praised God."

"You did?"

"When are ye going tae stop thinking I don't want ye?"

"I don't know. If I could provide for you…"

"Ye will."

"Hey, Mace!" somebody yelled. Eddie sighed and squeezed Isobel's fingers.

"Over here, Jazz," Eddie called. Hale came bouncing down the path. Isobel recognized his dancing gait as a symptom of shell shock. (xvii)

"You missed the show! Cap got down half a piece of toast and a whole bowl of vegetable soup."

"That's marvelous. And what did you keep down?"

Hale's chest puffed up. "A _whole_ piece of toast and a bowl of soup. And four saltines."

"Ah, you beat him, eh?"

He beamed. "Not gonna let him live it down, either."

"Good. That's good."

"I took a tray up to the room for you. Cap's guarding it so the nurses don't take it away."

"Well," Eddie stood up and tugged Isobel to her feet. "We'd best go up then, hadn't we, Jazz?"

"Yes, sir!"

People began to exit the building for post-dinner constitutionals. Eddie kept hold of Isobel's hand as they walked down the path to join Hale and she was acutely aware that it was the first time they'd held hands in front of anyone since their wedding. She was surprised when the ensign threw his arm around her husband's shoulders, but even more surprised when Eddie drew her close, kissed her in public, and put an arm around each of them. Hale's entire arm rested against hers.

It seemed to take the giggling trio an inordinately long time to get all the way up to the room arm-in-arm, but if anyone questioned the propriety of it, they never said.

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i **The Tillings Company** had a set of motorized public coach buses that was established in London in 1904. They had expanded into neighbouring markets by the 1910s and established a motorbus service in Brighton in 1916. The buses were green with yellow lettering on the sides. A yellow placard in the window named the route. 

ii **Mufties** : British trench slang since 1816 for civvies (civilian clothes). The term comes from the Arabic Mufti (Islamic scholars). Off-duty British officers in India wore long dressing gowns with tasseled caps similar to what the Mufti wore. They brought the term home, where it was applied to clothing such as dressing gowns, pyjamas and slippers. Eventually, all civilian clothing worn by military men earned the appellation. 

iii Men typically signed up to serve in the military for seven years or 'until the end of the war,' whichever was shorter. Nobody expected the war to last past Christmas of 1914, so the boys didn't really understand what they were getting into. By 1917, men were being drafted into the allied armies. 

iv One third of all Commonwealth soldiers displayed symptoms of long term malnutrition when they enlisted. Military personnel were generally well-fed. If most PBIs didn't eat well in the army, it must be said that the majority weren't eating any worse. 

v **The Hawthorn Ridge Redoubt** was a high spot covered in Hawthorn trees, situated between the enemy (which faced west) and the allies (who faced east). The Commonwealth Upper Brass decided to blow the ridge up with Ammonal—simultaneously with ten other strategic points down the length of the no man's land—close to the German front lines on the River Somme. Had the group of eleven bombs gone off as planned at 07:28AM, the Commonwealth men would have all attacked at once, two minutes later, and they would have had the upper hand over an army of very surprised Germans.

Instead, Lieutenant-General Hunter-Weston's decision to bypass the plan and detonate the **Hawthorn Bomb** at Beaumont-Hamel at 07:20AM (which was vociferously contested by his officers) gave the Germans ample warning, not only about where the attack would come from, but when. The other ten mega bombs went off as planned at 07:28AM and all the commanders sent the First Wave over as planned, two minutes later. The Commonwealth fusiliers were promptly annihilated.

 **The Hawthorn Bomb** left a crater 140 metres long, 90 metres wide and 25 metres deep. Not only was it impossible to cross, it flattened the landscape between Beaumont-Hamel and the enemy front lines, leaving the Commonwealth soldiers exposed. The Germans simply picked the men off from higher ground.

The men picked off during the First and Second Wave fell into the communications trenches, blocking the way for the troops behind them, who therefore exited the trenches early and were exposed to the enemy earlier than planned. In addition, nobody had cut the barbed wire and in the smoke, the men couldn't find the gaps so many got caught up in it and were then shot.

The entire account of this story has me in tears every time I think about it. I have pictures on Facebook of the Ridge, the bomb before it went off, the explosion, the subsequent crater, men in one of the trenches, and the landscape today.

As an interesting side note, the crown of thorns worn by Jesus at the crucifixion was made of hawthorn twigs.

 **The Hawthorn Crater** became a mass grave for all those who died on July 1, 1916 at Beaumont-Hamel: an estimated 66, 000 Commonwealth soldiers and 50, 000 Huns. It was so full of bodies that there is barely a dip in the landscape now. Today, the **Newfoundland Memorial Park** sits just south of the site.

vi **Estimated Casualties between July 1 and November 16, 1916 in the Somme** : UK 350, 000; Canada 24, 029; Australia 23,000; New Zealand 7, 408; South Africa 3,000; Newfoundland 2, 000. **Total British Commonwealth** : 419,654 casualties, 95,675 killed and missing-presumed-dead.

 **PLUS French** : 204,253 casualties, 50,576 killed and missing-presumed-dead.

 **Total Allied (Commonwealth and French)** : 623,907 casualties, 146,431 killed and missing-presumed-dead, approximately 200 POW.

 **Germany** : 465,000 casualties, 164,055 killed and missing-presumed-dead, 8,000 POW.

vii As soldiers succumbed more and more often to shell shock and terror, officers were forced to terminate them immediately so they didn't interfere with the campaigns. Widows would receive notice that those men were executed as cowards and they would not be receiving any pension. Yes, even at Beaumont-Hamel, men who refused to go over the top were executed. One wonders if those soldiers received dishonourable discharges, considering there weren't many officers left to report them. 

viii **St. John's Road** : each trench was given a street name to make locating it simpler. There's a picture of the Newfoundlanders in St. John's Road on my Facebook. 

ix The entire Newfoundland army was not dead, but Eddie wouldn't know that. The **First Newfoundland Regiment** (1915), also known as the Blue Puttees, was joined by 500 more men in the spring of 1916 and together they became the **Second Newfoundland Regiment** (approximately 800 of whom fought at Beaumont-Hamel).

 **Newfoundland Regiment Casualties** _ **after the first 30 minutes**_ **of the assault totalled 689 men:**

 **Killed** : 11 officers and 66 other ranks; **Wounded** 12 officers, 362 other ranks; **Died of Wounds** 2 officers, 21 other ranks; **Missing and Believed Dead** 1 officer, 209 other ranks.

At roll call the following day, 61 Newfoundlanders answered, including twelve Blue Puttees, and seven more Newfoundlanders who could not speak were found and rescued. As soon as news of the massacre reached Newfoundland—that only 68 of 800 soldiers left the battlefield alive, 1500 angry young men enlisted. The new **Royal Newfoundland Regiment** reached the Somme only six weeks after the massacre. txtpat/?id=67

x **Rinking** : roller skating 

xi The first woman to wear a black one piece swimsuit was Australian professional swimmer Annette Kellerman in 1907. She was arrested at Revere Beach, Massachusetts, for indecent exposure. Not long after, she released a fashionable line of similar swimwear and it became immensely popular. Later, she starred in several swimming-themed movies. 

xii **Haypenny** : half a penny. There were 24 haypennies in one shilling, and twelve shillings in a pound. 

xiii **Goopy** : stupid or foolish. **A goop** : a stupid person. 

xiv **Chesterfield** : an uncommonly-used British name for a couch that became the chief name for a couch in Canada up until about thirty years ago. Now, couches are usually called sofas in Britain, and couches in Canada and the US. 

xv One of my family's heirlooms is a 1906 edition of _Alice in Wonderland_ that belonged to my grandmother. It is very tiny and has a paper cover. The text is also tiny, but it's full of beautiful, colour illustrations. 

xvi **Gander** : a good look 

xvii Shell shock: beginning in 1914, men began to succumb to shell shock in droves and nobody knew how to cure them. Oddly, almost none of the victims were in any proximity to shelling when they acquired the condition. Symptoms could include loss of speech, hearing or vision, or an inability to walk including spastic muscles, odd gaits, nervous ticks and involuntary utterances. The two consistent symptoms were terror and shock. Men who got it became completely useless in battle. As they often improved when removed from the front line, the Brass considered them malingerers and cowards. By 1916, it was recognized that most of the shell shock victims were not faking their symptoms but nobody could figure out how to treat it. Various methods were tried, including electro shock therapy, hypnosis and forced walking, with some degree of success. Shell shock was not curable until 1919, when it was discovered that if men were able to confront and discuss their fears and their war experiences, their symptoms would ease. After the war, many sufferers returned to the sites of battles and visited memorials, and found they stopped having symptoms once they'd made peace with the past.

︻┳═一

Shameless Self-Plug:

Praise for Moms on Missions, 100% 5 star ratings, now available on Kindle and KU:

 _Hats off to Ms. Brown for her debut novel and doing such a spectacular job on warming the readers' hearts!_ ~ Star Angels Reviews

 _Moms on Missions is the first novel in Jess Molly Brown's Mommageddon Series, and it's an absolute doozy of a debut. Author Brown is a master at writing situational comedy and in her skilled hands, Vince, Dani, the MOMS, as well as an expansive cast of characters will have the reader howling with laughter._

 _Written with the perfect mix of heat and tenderness, and with Niagara Falls as a backdrop, the romance between Vince and Dani left this reader in a state of giddy delight. Both of these characters are likeable and well crafted. The MOM cast of characters are believable and not cliché. (Although this reader did have great issue with the flying tureen of wedding soup.)_ ~Vagabonda Reads


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Warning: this chapter describes chlorine gas burns and gangrene.

︻┳═一

 **September 29** **th** **, 1916**

︻┳═一

"I need you to talk to me, Lieutenant."

Eddie folded his arms across his chest. He could hear the patter of rain outside, along with the echo of bombs coming from the Continent. The air entering the open office window smelled sweet, muggy, and ever-so-pleasant. A lump swelled in his throat. "Is it raining there, do you suppose?"

Dr. Harris pulled his chair around the desk and sat almost knee-to-knee with Eddie, but he said nothing.

"It rains in the Wipers," Eddie said. "It was so hard to keep dry."

"Trench foot."

"We never saw much of it in the First Division."

"No?"

"Cap insisted upon a foot inspection every day."

"McCarty?"

"Yes. If there was any sign, he sent the man off to the field hospital. Hell of a long walk on bad feet."

"I expect so."

"Better than the Dardanelles, though. There was no help there. Gangrene, dysentery… Gangrene is black, you know. Looks just like a burn but it smells like death."

"The Gallipoli Campaign must have felt rather pointless."

"The whole war is pointless."

"Why?"

Eddie gnawed at his lip.

"You can tell me why you think so."

Gazing at the gray window, Eddie wished he hadn't opened his mouth. The last thing he needed was to be accused of treasonous thoughts.

"I want to know what it's like," Dr. Harris insisted.

"You can't."

"How can I help you if you won't talk to me? Even if you regain your sight, you won't get out of here if there's a chance you're going to commit suicide."

Eddie closed his eyes and rested his chin on his chest.

"Edward."

"You want to know what it's like? You're either cold, wet and bone tired, or hot, wet and bone tired. And bored. Thirsty all the time. _Water water everywhere nor any drop to drink_. ([i]) It's not all fighting, you know. There's a lot of sitting around. But one never relaxes. One is always waiting for the next bomb."

"But you excelled at St. Julien."

"Hah! That was in God's hands and nobody else's. One shift in the wind and I would just as easily have earned a trip to Blighty like so many others."

"With burns from the gas."

"Ever cooked a sausage over a fire?"

"Of course. My brothers and I used to love that when we were boys."

"That's what they look like, you know."

"Who?"

"The boys who were burned. They swell up, crack open and turn red, black and white with char. And the smell. My god, the stench. And it's so destructive they don't even cry. I'm taking it none of your brothers ever fell in the fire or you'd know."

Harris didn't respond to that. "Why is it a pointless war, Eddie?"

"Edward."

"I beg your pardon. I would like to be your friend. Please talk to me."

"Why?"

"You're intelligent and insightful. You have a lot of poise for someone your age. You talk like a leader. You have two damaged men who listen to you, who won't listen to anybody else. And you have a wife of admirable strength and character who is mad about you. Because of all these things, I have trouble comprehending why you are here."

Eddie grimaced. "It was easy to be optimistic when I was deaf. I almost wish I hadn't recovered my hearing."

"You can't mean that. Wasn't it awfully lonely?"

"At times. But I had my wife and my dog, and Mr. and Mrs. Biggins, and the kindness of strangers. My world was small but lovely."

"But communicating with them was hard."

"Ignorance is bliss. I was… happy not knowing."

"You couldn't have earned a living."

Eddie fell quiet for some minutes. "No. And I wouldn't like to be idle."

"According to your wife, you weren't idle at all."

"No."

"So what happened? Mrs. Masen told me you are a God-fearing man with an indefatigable spirit, and she cannot comprehend what would possess you to kill yourself."

Eddie went stiff. "I'm not a coward."

"Of course not."

Eddie leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "If I tell you what happened, you'll think I'm mad." Harris mirrored Eddie's pose. For the first time, Eddie could see his doctor's face, and the doctor looked plenty disconcerted by that fact. He also looked like a kind fellow, which Eddie had not anticipated.

"You're not insane." Harris eyed him intently.

Eddie raised a brow. "Are you positive?"

"Are you?"

"I am not certain."

"Please trust me, Lieutenant. All I want is to help you get well."

Eddie examined the doctor's earnest appearance and saw no reason not to trust him. In for a penny, in for a pound. He nodded slightly and Harris visibly relaxed.

"When Isobel told me about the bloodbath, I reeled. My darling, brave little woman—who has been unfailingly supportive—had hysterics because of me. My actions hurt my wife and I regret that profoundly. But all those men, all my boys… dead and long gone. It hit me so hard. Then, I found myself back there, in the muck. I heard my men crying for help."

"A delusion."

Eddie sat back and wrapped his arms around himself. "See? You do think I'm mad."

"No." Harris touched his arm. "I thought, at first, you had Neurasthenia. Now, I'm not so sure."

"Like McCarty? What causes it?"

"We don't know. I am absolutely certain that almost none of the sufferers I've met are falsifying their symptoms. The officers who don't go to the field contest the patients' veracity despite irrefutable evidence to the contrary. The field officers argue in support of the men and the upper Brass is afraid. The military's been decimated by cases and there's no cure in sight. But, unlike most men with Neurasthenia, you seem to be recovering. Please… you may be in a position to help. Please continue."

Eddie wiped his palms on his trousers. "You don't believe we're malingerers?"

"No. Not at all. I know my patients are truly suffering."

"I'm not certain that I'm not mad." He wanted to bite back his confession. The spectre of the asylum loomed like a voracious beast, just waiting to gobble him up forever. He broke out in a cold sweat.

"I want to help. Please let me help."

Eddie clenched his jaw and closed his shaking hands into fists. "After I found out… I could swear I was back there. I thought I was about to be captured. The enemy doesn't take prisoners. ([ii]) I knew I would be tortured before they killed me, so I tried to off myself before they could get to me."

"So you tried to end yourself to avoid capture and torture?"

"Yes."

"A lot of officers have done exactly that. Why didn't you say so? When you got here, you refused to speak to anyone."

"I was… ashamed."

"But that doesn't add up. It's an honourable act. Men do that not only to die with dignity, but also so they cannot give away military secrets." Harris gestured at him irritably. "You're telling me _now_ that you didn't want to be tortured. When we brought you in, you knew you'd outlived your men. You kept asking why we didn't let you die."

Eddie sighed and rubbed his temples. "It was very confusing. It's difficult to express…"

"Try."

"Part of me realized I wasn't in Beaumont-Hamel. I got glimpses of what really happened."

"That isn't what you expressed for nearly two weeks. You insisted Eddie Masen had died. You refused to acknowledge reality."

"I didn't want to face the truth. It isn't easy to accept what I did."

Harris nodded sympathetically. "What really happened, Eddie?"

His eyes stung. He turned his head toward the window. "I had my orders and I followed them. I relied on discipline instead of common sense."

"But that's commendable."

Eddie glared at Harris even though he understood that the doctor couldn't possibly relate. "Bull. I betrayed my God in order to honour King Edward. I should have ignored my orders and saved my men."

"In which case, you would have been court-marshalled and shot for treason."

"So be it."

Harris gasped. "You can't mean it! It would have been throwing your life away. You know very well that your commanders would have shot every deserter for treason, anyway. You would never have been able to take the fall for them!"

"But I would have died happy." Sitting back, Eddie smiled without humour. "Is it not dreadful that we non-coms had to consider that sending the boys out of trenches, to face machine guns and heavy artillery, posed more of a promise of survival than retreating and facing our own Brass did?"

"Why is the war pointless?"

Eddie rolled his eyes. "You are relentless."

"Please answer."

"Then answer my question! Is it not a dreadful way to treat the boys? Is it not terrible that our own leaders don't value those PBIs enough to allow them to retreat and live to fight another day? That thousands of men die just to maintain possession of an arbitrary line marked in the dirt?"

"It… I understand your position. But I assume our soldiers' sacrifice cost the Huns a great deal."

Eddie stroked his chin, then, scratched his head. "How much ground have we gained in the Somme?"

"Hardly any but we haven't lost any, either. Our soldiers are valiant men."

"And how many Triple Étante soldiers have died?"

"I don't know that figure."

Eddie nodded. "But you know how many casualties there were at Beaumont-Hamel."

"Yes. Seventy-five thousand of our allies fell in three hours."

"And the Triple Alliance casualties?"

"Estimated at sixty thousand."

Eddie nodded. "So, was it a stalemate, then?"

"Effectively."

Eddie leaned forward on an elbow again. "And that's why this war is pointless. We are neither gaining nor losing ground. This, sir, unless something major happens, is going to be a war of attrition. Whoever has men left standing at the end is going to be the victor."

Harris pressed his lips together. "That's not a very patriotic answer," he breathed.

"I fear, since our Upper Brass ordered me to lead my men to be slaughtered, I'm not feeling terribly patriotic right now."

The doctor's face contorted with anxiety. "You cannot afford to act based upon sentiment. The Brass won't acknowledge the validity of your argument. They'll brand you a traitor and kill you."

"And you don't think I ought to become a martyr to the memory of my dead men?"

"You have a wife!" Harris hissed. "A very fine woman who will be ruined if you lose your reputation!"

Eddie ducked his head and felt his face burn. As soon as he gathered his thoughts, he reached out and touched his doctor's hand. "Thank you for your care of Isobel. I am grateful. I will be more careful of what words exit my mouth."

Dr. Harris took his hand and gripped it. He leaned closer so Eddie could see him properly. "Good. I don't want to see anything happen to you. I expect I would feel just as you do, in your place, but it is unwise to say so. Henry VIII killed his best friend Thomas More because More honoured God over Henry. Not much has changed with kings. There are other ways to honour those you loved than tossing yourself into the grave."

"How do you suggest I honour them?"

"Help the living or fight their enemies. But don't imagine you can change centuries of political thought to save PBIs. The government is going to quash any protest."

"All right."

"You must function within the system if you want to influence it. Rebels are eradicated."

Eddie frowned and smoothed back his hair. "I see your wisdom."

"You're not wearing your uniform jacket."

"It weighs too heavily."

"It is your duty. You must be seen to be fulfilling your duty, Lieutenant."

"I have done my duty. And I have paid the price for it."

"Not with your soul, as you seem to believe."

He rubbed his chest. "I pray I can do something to redeem myself. I don't wish to be pitied, doctor, but I think you can agree that this war has taken a heavy toll on every subject of the King. Our lives will never be the same."

Harris nodded. "What if your blindness can be cured?"

Eddie huffed and shook his head. "We both know that's not going to happen. My eyes are full of shrapnel. They're torn inside and out, and at times they still bleed."

"Say you could be cured. Would you go back to the Somme to avenge your fallen companions?"

"Would I have a choice?"

"Just tell me if you would want to."

Eddie leaned forward. "I would rather be shot dead. I would rather have someone gouge out my eyes and cut off my ears than go back there."

"That's—"

"Treason?"

"Don't you love your country?"

"Which one?"

"You tell me."

"I adored Newfoundland but I don't belong there anymore. I love Canada the most but there's nothing there for me at present. And I love England because Bella is here. People here accept me as I am, without expectations. I expect I shall love Scotland, too."

"Good! So which of these is to be your country?"

"All of them."

"Do you want to go home?"

"With Bella. Yes."

"Then you must regain your mental and emotional stability."

He made it sound so easy. "How do you propose I do that?"

"Tell me about the nightmares."

Eddie closed his eyes and counted to ten. "What do you want to know?"

"You had a bad one last night, even though you seemed to have had a very good day."

He swallowed hard. "In Gallipoli, there was this… Turkish boy soldier. He had unusually beautiful eyes. He tried to bayonet me, so I stabbed him. He writhed to get off my knife and all that did was cut him up more. I kicked him down and slit him open like a fish, right down the middle. Stumbled, and ended up with my whole forearm inside his body. He cried out…"

"That must have been…"

Eddie waved his hand dismissively. "That's only the half of it. We habitually check them over for ammunition and take it. He had on a gun belt under his jacket and that's how I found out."

"Found out what?"

"He had a bosom."

The doctor's jaw dropped. "A woman? Fusilier?"

"There are more female infantry soldiers than you'd think, but not very many end up on the front lines."

"And your nightmare was about her? This girl?"

"Yes. I kill her and then she turns into Bella."

"But your wife is not a soldier, or a Hun."

"My wife spent nearly two years within ten miles of the Ypres Salient nursing casualties. She is as brave as any soldier. And as for the Turks and Krauts…"

"Yes?"

"Sometimes, even though I hate them, I can't help supposing that they're just like us."

"Why?" Harris gasped.

"I've looked them in the eye. Everyone on the battlefield is exhausted and filthy and thoroughly lacking any emotions save fear and revulsion. We don't kill for emotional reasons, we kill before the other bastard can kill us. Besides, I spent a lot of time stuck with my four prisoners after St. Julien." He almost smiled at the memory. "One of them liked to sing with his friend, who had an accordion. Another offered me his cigarettes. The fourth was teased for his red hair. They didn't seem any different from me, really."

"You don't mean to tell me that you sympathize with the Huns?"

Eddie snorted. "I hate them and everything they stand for. I hate every man who ever waged war against my people. But they're subject to their Brass just as we are. I hate their Brass. Sometimes, I hate our Brass, too. But I don't hate them for being Huns, no." He shrugged. "It's just that one can't entertain the notion that they're like us if one wants to shred their guts for garters."

"I see." They paused and then Harris asked, "Why do you think you don't have Neurasthenia like McCarty?"

"I don't know. Perhaps it's because before I went over there, I submitted myself to God's will."

"What do you mean?"

"I had come to the understanding back in Gallipoli that I was very unlikely to survive for long. Since there was no ability to flee with my men, I came to terms with my death long in advance."

"Do you think Hale and McCarty did not?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. As I said before, I think they both desperately want to live. Well, I did, too, despite the fact that I didn't think I would. However, I had one thing with me in the trenches to comfort me that they did not."

"What was that?"

"Letters from my sweetheart." He smiled softly. "Her assurance that I was wanted. I knew I had a future after the war if I managed to make it through. I had faith in the promises written in those letters. I wish I still had them, but they're gone." Resentment stabbed at him. "Ground into the muck somewhere in Beaumont-Hamel, I suppose."

"McCarty," Harris said hesitantly, "was speaking freely to you yesterday, but he said nothing to me at his appointment this morning."

"He was under the influence of cannabis yesterday. When he is sober, he can barely speak at all."

"Which would indicate that his inability to speak is due to a nervous condition."

"Isn't that what Neurasthenia is? A blanket term for various unidentifiable neuroses?"

"Your range of knowledge is impressive."

Eddie shook his head. "My wife is an army nurse. I asked her about it."

"Neurasthenia is a kind of shell shock that attacks officers. They go blank and forget the words for things. They are exhausted and can't make decisions. Sometimes, they lose one of their senses."

"McCarty can't walk or talk and there's no discernable cause, am I correct?"

"You have no medical background?"

"No." He rolled his eyes. "Trust me. I have sworn no Hippocratic Oath. I am a destroyer, not a saviour."

"You have brought about an almost immediate improvement in Hale and McCarty. Your argument makes no sense."

"Does it not?"

"You have a gift. People trust you. Teach me. How do I cure the men with shell shock?"

Eddie tapped his foot on the floor and shifted in his chair. "You want to know how I get them to calm down. How I coax them to do things when nobody else has had any success."

"Yes! The whole Allied Army and the medical community are desperate to save these soldiers. Thousands of men have been rendered completely useless and the Brass keeps accusing them of malingering. They're honestly sick and illness can be cured."

Eddie nodded. "Love them. Forgive them. Let them talk."

Harris sighed. "There must be more to it than that. That's too simple."

"If you cannot empathize with what they've been through, it's the hardest thing in the world."

︻┳═一

Isobel marched into Eddie's room, waving the newspaper in her hand at its occupants with a flourish. "I've brought ye something I thought ye might enjoy, gentlemen."

"What is it?" Eddie wondered aloud.

She held up the paper in front of the Captain's nose. "Do ye think this will prove entertaining, sir?"

Emmett's eyes lost their glaze. "Ohhhh!"

"What is it?" Hale asked eagerly.

"Times!" Emmett exclaimed.

Isobel handed the paper to Eddie and he turned his head to the right and practically put his eye on it. "Is this what I think it is?"

"It's an old copy Mr. Biggins had in his sitting room, but I thought it might amuse ye sae I asked him tae lend it to us."

" _The Wipers Times_ ," Eddie said reverently. ([iii])

Hale practically levitated off his bed. " _The Wipers Times_?"

"Roberts!" Emmett yelled. "Theatre!"

"Yeah, that was fun, wasn't it?" Hale asked him.

"Read it to us, Bella!" Eddie hopped off his bed and placed a chair by Emmett's. He sat next to Emmett's feet and Hale scrambled up on the far side. The three of them watched her eagerly. It was the first time she could remember that the trio had displayed any joy.

"What do ye know," she said haughtily, pointing at each man in turn. "See No Evil, Hear No Evil and Speak No Evil."

Eddie and Cap laughed, but Jasper's forehead creased. "But I can hear."

Eddie flicked him on the ear. "We can fix that for ya!" A boyish scuffle ensued.

"Shh! Shh!" Cap waved at them both, then, pointed at Isobel. "Please!"

She ruffled the little newspaper in her hands. " _Are ye a victim to optimism_?" The three men hung on every word. " _Ye don't know? Then answer the following questions. Do ye experience a feeling of cheerfulness? Do ye wake up in a morning thinking all is going well for the Allies?"_ She read out all the questions while the men beamed. " _Well, we can fix that for you. We'll send ye tae the Front. In two days, we guarantee all signs of optimism will be gone_."

Jasper laughed so hard that he keeled over and fell off the bed.

"We have to share this!" Eddie said, jumping up. "Come on! Downstairs!"

Emmett held out his hands and Eddie pulled him up and put him in a fireman's carry. Isobel bit her tongue against advising the blind not to carry the lame down marble staircases. Jasper was right behind them. Isobel found herself alone in the room.

"Well," she said to no one in particular.

"Come on, Bella!" Eddie shouted from somewhere on the stairs.

"All right." She hopped up, smoothed down her skirt and followed them.

In the lobby, Eddie and Hale were calling out to every available human. Isobel went into the parlour to claim a seat before all those available were taken. In no time at all, the room was bursting at the seams with men and even a handful of nurses.

"Read, Bella!" Eddie ordered as he deposited Emmett on the floor.

Everyone was staring at her hopefully. Isobel cleared her throat. "This is an advert from the front page of an April edition of _The Wipers Times_." She held up the paper. " _Wipers Salient Taxicab Service. Are ye having trouble getting home from the Front? No worries. All ye need to do is hail one of our taxis. Ye will know them when ye see them. They all have a big, red cross on the side_."

The assembled crowd roared with laughter. Pink-cheeked, Isobel continued to read and the patients laughed and joked and whispered to each other. She had read three quarters of the paper to them when Dr. Harris and a couple of other doctors slipped in and stood at the back of the room.

Isobel cleared her throat. She prayed she was not about to get into trouble. "May I haff a glass of water, please?"

A nurse at the back poured her one from the standing pitcher and handed it to one of the men. The water passed from hand to hand all the way to the front, where an enlisted man effectively kowtowed while handing it to her.

"Thank ye." Isobel sipped at the water and handed the cup back to the man. "Will ye hold this for me, PBI?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Isobel glanced fretfully at the doctors and read another advert.

" _No children's party is complete without fireworks. Presently available at the Salient, nightly. Whizzbangs, crumps, pipsqueaks and Minnies provided, courtesy of Fritz_." ([iv])

At the word whizzbang, a handful of the men in the room threw their hands over their heads and began to rock. Men around them, however, gave them friendly shakes and pats and soon, the shell shocked were listening attentively again. Isobel avoided looking at the doctors and read until she'd read every item aloud.

"All right, boys. That's all, I'm afraid." She took her water glass from her helper.

"Thank you for reading, Nurse Masen," Jasper called from the back. Those gathered began to chatter and applaud. Isobel waited for men to get up and leave so she could remove herself, but none of them did. One of the men raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"Ow come yer inn't in uniform if yer a nurse?"

"I'm on leave so I can spend time with my husband. We've both been in Blighty since July."

Another man raised his hand. "Where'd you serve, ma'am?"

"I was at one of the base hospitals near the Wipers for two years." She pointed at the next man who thrust his hand in the air.

"Ma'am, how did you read that limerick without blushing? Do you know what it's about?"

Isobel tipped down her chin. "I wonder if you will think more highly of me if I do or if I don't."

The men combusted with laughter. They chatted and joshed with each other for some time before Dr. Harris stepped further into the room.

"Where did you get that newspaper?" he demanded loudly. All the talking ceased.

"You aren't going to ban it, are you guv?" one of the non-com officers asked.

"Certainly not! I want more! Do any of you have more?"

The crowd began to mumble and whisper.

"I will pay each man to lend their copy to be read! And if more copies can be found, I will pay to put them in the hospital library!"

An ensign stood up. "I have three issues I will lend you, sir."

"Splendid! If you would be so kind as to lend them one at a time, Ensign, we shall read them to the men every Saturday afternoon."

"Huzzah!" one of the men yelled. Three cheers went up for Dr. Harris. Three more went up for Isobel.

Eventually, the crowd began to thin and Dr. Harris was able to pick his way across the room to Isobel. He bowed his head to her. "Mrs. Masen."

Isobel inclined her head. "I was worrit ye were fashed with me, Doctor."

"Do you realize what you've done?"

She winced.

Dr. Harris gestured around him. "The chief obstacle to healing the men with shell shock is that they lack heart. They are either unable or unwilling to communicate or otherwise engage with others. And here you are, reading ridiculous articles to men who haven't laughed in nearly two years, and they are laughing and chatting with their mates." He bent, took her hand, and kissed it. "I am in debt to you, ma'am."

"All I did was read!"

"About a topic to which they can relate! Communication is the key, I just know it. I must talk to the Director. Do you know if your friend has any more issues of this paper?"

"No. I can ask him."

"I will pay him well for them if he is willing to part with them."

"I will ask him this evening."

"Did you see?" he demanded of one of his colleagues.

The man nodded, his eyebrows raised. "When Burns started to keen, Auden and Richards got him to stop."

"Ferris laughed!" Harris appeared giddy.

"I know!"

Harris grabbed onto Eddie's hand and pumped it fiercely. "Do you believe God works in mysterious ways, Lieutenant?"

Eddie's brow wrinkled. "I'm not sure what the big deal is, sir. It was just a bit of fun."

"Just a bit of fun! _Just a bit of fun_? God bless you." He marched out of the parlour, arm-in-arm with his chattering colleagues, leaving Eddie, Isobel, Jasper and Emmett to stare at each other.

"He'll be wanting pantomimes next," Jasper said. Emmett snorted.

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

* * *

[i] _Rime of the Ancient Mariner_ , Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1834.

[ii] Statistics collected after the war showed that the Germans held only 200 POWs, while the Allies had 8000.

[iii] **The Wipers Times** : In February of 1916, two British officers and two of their men stumbled upon a printing press in an abandoned building. The senior officer, Roberts, had an idea to boost morale by producing a weekly newspaper reminiscent of _Punch_. They looted the press and dragged it all over Europe with them. The magazine was full of jokes, satire, poems and limericks, and lambasted the Upper Brass. They wrote it without using any profanity. The newspaper was so well-written that it became iconic and you can still buy print and Kindle copies of the complete edition. It was recently made into an extremely entertaining BBC movie which can be found on Netflix and Amazon.

[iv] **Whizzbangs, crumps, pipsqueaks and Minnies** : trench slang for mortar shells, canon, rifles and _Minenwerfers_ aka missile-throwers.

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

 **EXCERPT from MOMs ON MISSIONS by Jess Molly Brown:**

"He'll never go for a blind date." Diana pushes a forkful of pecan pie around on her tea plate. "Remember the last one? She tried to make him quit painting. He said, 'Never again'."

"Oh, she wasn't even Italian." Constance waves her hand dismissively. "Vince needs a nice Italian girl." She chooses a rum ball off the three-tiered silver dish in the middle of the table. "One who will make him feel all manly and powerful."

Diana is shaking her head before Constance is even finished speaking. "I don't think so. The girls he dates are usually well-off businesswomen." She tips her head to the side, narrowing her eyes in concentration. "He needs somebody who's artsy and outgoing, but not focused on money. Someone . . . clever, independent and resilient."

"He prefers blondes," Mia says.

" _Leggy_ blondes." Lu is 6'2" and appreciates men who aren't threatened by that.

Constance perks up, eyes aglow. "I know just the girl."

Diana, Lu and Mia stare, waiting for the pretty bunny to pop out of her hat.

"Mary diGiordano!" Constance lifts her cup in salute. "I went to university with her mother, Gloria."

Diana is taken aback. "Isn't Mary in high school? Vincent is nearly 28, you know."

Constance sips her espresso and wrinkles her mouth at the taste. She sets it down and focuses on Diana. "She's 22 and graduated in Music from the University of Toronto. She wants to relocate somewhere with job prospects for her band."

"She's a musician?" That sounds promising. "What kind of band does she have?"

Constance shrugs. "They play the blues. Gloria says they're really good." She puts three spoons of sugar in her espresso.

"What does Mary look like?" Diana tries not to get excited.

"Mary's petite, with long golden hair and the biggest blue eyes you ever saw." Constance reaches for another dessert, hesitates, and then chooses a chocolate biscotti. "Beautiful girl. But she daydreams a lot."

A little blue-eyed dream-angel for Vince? How perfect. Diana can practically see them dressed in their wedding clothes. For once, Vincent's messy brown curls will be cut. His father, Carmine will beam down from Heaven and the Russos will have the most beautiful wedding the neighbourhood has ever seen . . .

"I'm all ears," Diana says eagerly. "How are you going to set them up without them finding out? Vincent hacked our Facebook group months ago."

Mia turns to Constance. "You said Mary needs a new place to live, right?"

"Yes."

Mia ponders this, then smirks at Diana. "And Vincent is still living in the bottom half of your nephew Damon's house, right?"

"Yes," Diana nods. "Ever since Mrs. P. moved out, the upper unit has been empty."

"Sounds simple to me," Constance says. "We'll get Mary to move in upstairs. Vince is a nice boy, she's a nice girl . . . they'll fall together on their own. Easy."

"Is Mary's bio on our Facebook page?" Diana must research this girl.

"Yes, but her album's out of date." Constance stirs her espresso with the biscotti. "I'll call Gloria to see if she'll update the bio and recommend Damon's house to Mary. Romance aside, Gloria worries about groupies and shady characters." She lifts a shoulder. "I suppose Mary's safety is a valid concern considering she performs in clubs at night."

Diana purses her lips.

"What if Vince discovers our plans?" Mia cuts a corner off her Neapolitan square.

Constance leans forward conspiratorially. "We don't post a word about either of them, unless it's to share that they're seeing other people." She winks and polishes off the last bite of her biscotti. "Once they've met, let them go online, read up on each other and view some really cute photos."

"Nobody can let anything slip," Mia warns. All the ladies nod solemnly.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

︻┳═一

 **September 30** **th** **, 1916**

︻┳═一

Eddie was playing cards on his bed with Jazz and Cap, using a specially-marked deck designed for blind patients, when the cheerful barking of a small dog broke the quiet. Eddie opened his arms wide. "P.B.?"

The dog leapt onto the bed, scattering cards everywhere in his frenzy to greet his master. He began to make a noise that sounded like nothing other than, " _Ma'am-ma'am-ma'am_!"

"Hey, boy!" Eddie tried to settle the dog as it writhed on its back and kicked its legs, sending almost all of the remaining cards onto the floor. "Where's yer Mammy, eh?"

Private Barker howled, cried, panted and licked Eddie all over for so long that Cap and Jazz began to chuckle. The heels of Bella's shoes clacked upon the floor. Two unfamiliar gaits accompanied hers.

"Poor wee thing must hae thought ye'd gone west."

"Ye-e-eah, poor baby," Eddie crooned, allowing the dog to lick his face. "I'm sorry, doggy. Such a good boy. Who's the lovely dog, then?" Eddie suddenly noticed how quiet his friends had become. As he stood to greet his visitors, Jazz and Cap shrank back, and Private Barker scampered all over the bed, scattering more cards and knocking Eddie's pillow on the floor.

"Happy birthday, Eddie," Bella said warmly.

"Thank you, my darling." Eddie stooped to kiss his wife, who was wearing her beautiful lace dress again. She put her fingers over his lips and pushed him away.

"Ach, no! Ye just kissed the dog!"

He laughed and embraced her instead, then turned his attention to the couple standing behind her. Each of them seemed to be carrying bulky objects. He reached out his right hand to the taller figure, which was still a head shorter than he. "Hello."

The man shook his hand firmly and Eddie's phantom thumb prickled painfully. (i)

"Happy birthday. How do, Lieutenant Masen?"

Eddie retained the man's hand, for he knew the voice. "You're Peter Biggins. I owe you and your missus an apology."

"It's all right now, innit?"

"Yes, sir. I shan't do it again."

"Good."

"Wonderful to meet you properly, at last. Please call me Eddie." Eddie turned his head toward the much tinier (but rotund) person. He reached out for her with both hands and she placed hers in his. This was the lady that had fed, nurtured, and welcomed him into her house. "Forgive me, Mrs. Biggins."

She burst into tears. "Oh! You are a dear boy. Mr. Biggins and I have been very worried. Very worried, indeed."

Eddie raised her hands to his lips. "I am sorry."

"Never mind, sonny. I'm just glad to see you are your chipper self again. Now, who are these fellows, then?"

"Ah, these are my best mates, Captain Emmett McCarty, Canadian First Division…"

From his place on the bed, Cap nodded at Mrs. Biggins and shook hands with Mr. Biggins. He didn't say a word.

"…and Ensign Jasper Hale, C.F.D." Jazz had half-hidden himself behind Eddie, so Eddie prodded him forward. The ensign kept the left side of his face averted, but stuck out his hand.

"Hello," Mr. Biggins said cheerfully.

"Sir," Jazz murmured. Mrs. Biggins got very close to him and peered up into his face. She pushed his hair behind his ear.

"What lovely hair you have, dear. Like flax." Eddie heard her inhale sharply. He tensed. "And most beautiful eyes, too. Such a handsome blue. May we wish you a happy belated birthday?"

Jasper stepped back and pressed himself against Eddie's side, so Eddie put his arm around him. For a moment, there was an awkward silence.

"Well," Bella said. "What shall we have first, dinner or presents?"

"Oh…" Eddie was acutely aware that Jasper's birthday had been the day before, and nobody had sent him so much as a note. Eddie had mentioned it to Bella, which was how Mrs. Biggins knew about it.

"I've brought a lovely crock full of beef with taters, turnips and onions, enough for everyone," Mrs. Biggins said heartily.

"And two bottles of plonk (ii)." Mr. Biggins held them up. They were very large bottles.

"And I have crusty bread, and cold, fresh butter," Bella added, "And a jar of quince (iii) preserves, and a tin of shortbread from Aunt Maggie. Jessy has lent us seven bowls and some mugs."

"How very kind of you," Eddie said.

"Not at all," Mrs. Biggins said. "We must feed you up, my dear."

"Looks like these two need feeding up more, My Own," Mr. Biggins said. He reached out to give Jasper a nudge, and Jasper half-hid behind Eddie again. "Don't they feed you in the army?"

"No, sir, they mostly starve us," Eddie said. The Bigginses laughed lightly while Emmett crawled into his wheelchair.

"Well," Eddie said, "this is quite the humdinger (iv) of a party. Now, how are we going to manage to eat?"

"Jessy suggested we haff a picnic." Bella prodded Private Barker onto the floor and picked up the last few cards littering Eddie's bed. "Mr. and Mrs. Biggins may use the chairs."

"Oh, no," Mrs. Biggins said. "We shall picnic on the floor, as well."

"Verra well." Bella flapped out Eddie's cotton quilt onto the floor. Mr. Biggins helped Mrs. Biggins onto her knees. Eddie suspected _he_ would be helping her up later. He made himself comfortable opposite the couple. "Come on, Jasper," Bella said with a wave as she sank to the floor. "Emmett. Mrs. Biggins is a wonderful cook. Ye're in for a treat." Private Barker ran delighted circles around everyone, tongue lolling, and ended up tucked up on Eddies' lap.

Eddie badly wanted Bella pressed up beside him, but he was aware that the whole afternoon might go up in one dilly of an explosion, so when Jasper carried Emmett over and placed him to Eddie's left side, then sank down to sit on his right, Eddie didn't make them move.

"Come on, P.B.," Bella picked up a small bowl of stew and set it to one side. Private Barker leapt off Eddie's lap and dug into it with enthusiasm.

Mr. Biggins cleared his throat. "Bless these Thy gifts, o Lord, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, and make us mindful of the needs of others."

"Amen."

Eddie took a spoonful of beef so tender he barely had to chew it, seasoned to perfection and swimming in rich gravy infused with red wine. The bread was crusty and beautifully white (v), and Bella had spread it with the sweet butter. Eddie was aware that he was eating greedily so he tried to slow down, but Jazz and Cap were already almost scraping the bottom of their bowls.

The Bigginses and Bella were doing most of the chatting, but they didn't seem to mind.

Mrs. Biggins held up her ladle. "Here, dearie." She refilled Jazz's bowl. "This will do you good."

"Thank you," he said softly.

"Captain?"

"Oh, I d-don't… But… a b-bit of th-that… bird and yellow..." His face wrinkled and his eyelids fluttered with anxiety.

"Indeed." Bella passed it to him as though nothing was amiss, pointing at the items so he would remember the words. "Ye like _bread_ and _butter_ , don't ye, Captain?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I love using it to sop up my gravy."

"Yes, ma'am!" Emmett did exactly that.

"Eddie will have more beef, won't you, sonny?" Mrs. Biggins said.

"Yes, please, Mrs. Biggins." He nudged Jasper. "Isn't Mrs. Biggins the most wonderful cook?"

"Yes, sir."

Even Cap made it through two bowls of stew and a triangle of shortbread with a dab of quince jam on top. And everyone had at least one mug of plonk.

"I don't think I could eat one more bite." Eddie rubbed his stomach.

"Ye're _full_?" Bella demanded.

Eddie laughed. "It has been known to happen."

"When?"

He felt his face burn. "Occasionally."

Quickly, Bella and Mrs. Biggins wrapped the leftovers and returned them to their basket.

"And now, the presents!" Bella announced. Before Eddie could interject, she passed a small package to Jazz. "Here, this is from me and Eddie."

"For me? Thank you." He tore off the brown paper. "Rothman fags! (vi) Wow. Thanks."

"And this is from me and the missus," Mr. Biggins said, passing Jazz a cloth sack. He peeked at them uncertainly.

"But… you don't even know me."

"You belong to our Eddie," Mr. Biggins said. "That makes you family."

"Thank you." He sounded amazed.

"Go on then," Mrs. Biggins urged. "Open it."

Jasper opened the bag and paused. He reached in and pulled out a blue linen shirt. "I… I don't know what to say."

Mrs. Biggins patted him on the knee. "Say you'll come and stay with us when you're ready to come home."

"Yes, ma'am. Yes, Mrs. Biggins. I will."

"I have been thinking," Mrs. Biggins said, "that I should like all of you to call me Mother Biggins."

"It would be…" Cap began, and drifted off.

Eddie cleared his throat. "We would be honoured to call you Mother."

"Honoured," Cap echoed.

"Here, Cap," Bella said, passing him a small rectangular package.

"It's not!" He shook his head with a panicked expression.

"Happy _un_ birthday. I thought ye maun need something to trade with this lot."

He ripped into the paper and looked at the contents. "Good…"

"Hershey's chocolate."

"I could kiss you right now." _That_ came out of his mouth with no effort whatsoever!

"Hey," Eddie growled and gave Emmett a playful nudge. "Bella's my little woman. Get your own. _Sir_."

Jasper laughed under his breath.

Bella pushed a hard, cubic package into Eddie's hands. "Here, sweet man. Open it."

Eddie carefully tore the paper but something small and cool slipped out of the top and fell into his lap. He felt the box in his hands and smelled it tentatively. "Fags? There must be a year's supply here. What… Dunhill's. These are the best."

"My father said so." Bella reached into his lap, retrieved the small item and handed it to him. "I thought perhaps a lighter would be easier for ye tae use than Lucifers." (vii)

"Thank you, darling." He held the lighter up to his good eye and squinted at it. It was rectangular, with a striker on top, and the front was enamelled to look like a tankful of tropical fish. "How fanciful! I love it." (viii)

"Do ye?"

"I do! Thank you so much. I shall use it with pleasure." He tucked it into his trouser pocket and patted it.

Mr. Biggins cleared his throat. "I hope you will not think Mrs.—Mother Biggins and I are overstepping, Eddie. This is only part of it. There is more for you when you come home." He passed Eddie a large, cloth sack.

"Whatever is this?" Eddie tugged open the silk ribbon that was holding the bag shut.

"Bella said you asked for Muftis," Mrs. Biggins said. "They belonged… to our son, Bernard." Edward opened the bag and drew out a tailored white shirt and a summer weight, grey three-piece suit.

"Oh, my," Edward said, his throat closing up.

"We lost him at the Aisne," Mr. Biggins said. "September 13th, 1914." (ix)

"I'm sae sorry," Bella said.

Eddie nodded. "Our deepest condolences."

"First Battle of the Aisne," Emmett said darkly.

"You know of it, Captain? Were you there?" Mrs. Biggins asked eagerly. But Emmett did not answer. There was another awkward silence.

"Cap goes blank sometimes," Eddie explained. "And he forgets the words for things. It's called Neurasthenia." (x) That's why he's here."

Mrs. Biggins shook her head. "Oh, dear. How's it cured, then?"

"Rest." Jasper hugged himself. "They think. They don't really know if it works or not. Most men don't seem to get over it."

"And why are you in here, sonny?" Mr. Biggins asked.

Jasper gulped and let his hair fall in front of his face like a curtain. "Shell shock." He attempted and failed to stand as his muscles jerked and seized. Eddie rose, picked him up, and carried him to bed. Jasper was shaking so badly that Eddie had to wrap him up in his arms to prevent him from going loony. He tipped his head toward Bella apprehensively but she only gave Jazz a pat on the head, followed by a kiss on the head for Eddie.

"I think I maun take Private Barker home for a wee bit. After that, I'll come back tae see you."

"All right, thank you."

"We'll be off, too, boys," Mr. Biggins said, helping Mrs. Biggins up. He turned his attention to Emmett. "May I help you back to your cot, Captain?"

"N-no fans you. Okay-O sitting on the blanket."

"Right-o. Cheerio, then!"

"Pip pip." Jasper whimpered.

︻┳═一

An hour later, Eddie gripped the seat of the chair in the middle of Dr. Harris's office. "What can I do for you, gentlemen?" There were four blurry men in the bright blue room, one of whom appeared to be in uniform. The fourth man, he knew to be his doctor.

"Well," Dr. Harris said jovially, "we've some papers to put in order so you can go home."

Eddie sat up a bit. "I'm getting out?"

"Not right away, these things take time. Red tape, you know." (xi)

"Oh. Of course."

"So, I sent a telegram your parents to find out where we should ship you."

His blood ran cold. "What?"

"Back to Newfoundland. _Home_ , my good man."

Eddie shot to his feet. "What is the meaning of this?" Damn the man! He'd promised he could be trusted. Eddie shook his head with increasing ferocity. "I'm not going back with them. No way! I'm a married man and I'm remaining here with my wife!"

"You're not eighteen, yet."

He felt his Irish rise. "You are not going to invalidate my marriage or my service. We have discussed this already." He pointed at Harris. "I trusted you."

"Lieutenant."

"The Newfoundlanders promoted me three times and put me in charge of sixty men. If you try to say I'm not an adult or I'm not competent to make decisions for myself, I'll—"

Dr. Harris stepped closer and Eddie discovered he was smiling kindly. He patted Eddie on the shoulder. "Bravo."

Eddie shook his head with a frown. "Doctor."

"Please sit, Lieutenant." Eddie clenched his fists. His heart was pounding against his ribs.

"Please, Eddie."

He felt for the chair and sat, feeling almost ill with anticipation.

"Please forgive me for testing you."

"That was a _test_?" Eddie was sorely tempted to make his pending release impossible by beating the shit out of his doctor. Wasn't it well for him that Eddie wanted out so badly!

"Yes. You're nearly ready to be discharged from this hospital but we want you to leave under the best possible conditions. One concern is that we have received more correspondence from your parents and your father is determined to take you back home, so I needed to expose your true feelings about that."

"I am not going."

"I understand. Another issue is that you need paperwork completed in order to receive your pension. And you need a doctor who knows about vision, and a suitable job. We had to determine if you were really mentally prepared to be responsible for yourself."

"You're confusing me. Can you give it to me straight?" The doctor didn't seem to be capable of giving direct answers, yet he wondered why the men with shell shock didn't trust him?

"All right. First, let me reassure you that with the great help you've been around here, nobody's going to question your competence and nobody's going to send you anywhere that you don't want to go."

"Good—because nobody can make me leave my wife, especially not my father."

"Your relationship is not amicable?"

"He was so adamant about me working in the mine that I ran away when I was fourteen."

Harris shifted as though he wanted to pace, but there was no room with all the extra people present. "He seems a very domineering gentleman, from the correspondence we've had from him."

Eddie wished he could see. Who were the other people in the room? Surely not his father! "My father was never cruel to me. He was simply determined that I should follow in his footsteps and he had no patience to hear out my preferences."

"I see. And if you cannot do the work for which you were groomed?"

"I'm a trained classical musician. I can make my own way. I may go back to Canada someday, with my wife, but I will not be going back to live in Newfoundland. Not even to visit."

"Why not?" Harris sounded shocked. "Do you hate your parents that much?"

"Hah! I don't hate them at all, but that has no bearing on me going home. Can you imagine me walking around St. John?" He winced. "What people would say to me about being one of sixty survivors of Beaumont-Hamel? The widows? The mothers who lost their boys? And I am alive, while their loved ones perished?"

"They have venerated the survivors as heroes."

"I'm not a hero. People would pity me because I can't see. No, thank you. I'd rather live practically anywhere else."

"Well, we've collected all the papers you're going to need. We just need to get the formalities out of the way, and then you'll have to sign everything."

Unconsciously, he tipped down his chin. "Sign papers I can't read?"

"I'll read them to you, and then show you where to sign."

Eddie shook his head. "I hope you will forgive me, doctor, but as you've just been threatening to send me back to Newfoundland to live as a dependent upon my parents, I'm going to require someone I trust to read everything and make sure it's jake (xii)."

"I understand your reticence. Shall we proceed with the examinations, and then my colleagues can write and sign their portions of the paperwork and depart? Then, we can get your representative here to go over the details, although I don't know whom you think might be qualified. A lawyer, perhaps?"

"Of course not. My wife, Isobel. She will be here shortly after oh-fifteen-hundred this afternoon."

"A woman?" One of the men in the room snorted.

Edward set his jaw. "My wife was the most Senior Nurse under Matron White at the Number Five Base Hospital near Ypres, where she served for three years. Her quick actions have saved the lives of many hundreds of men. Mrs. Masen has performed surgeries when no surgeon was available, she reads medical textbooks for fun, she has a firm grasp on legal matters and finances, and best of all she is loyal to me. Never disparage my wife, sir, or I shall knock your block off." (xiii)

"You shall, eh?" he laughed with glee.

"Do you think I can't?" Eddie asked, his voice dangerously soft.

"No, no, I wouldn't try you. I'm well-aware you were a hero at the Salient. Pushed back those Huns, eh?"

The Canadian patois unnerved him. "Who are you?"

"I work for your father. He's been searching for you a long time without success, _Anthony_ , but I found you were _Edward_ Masen in the lists. I'm an agent of inquiry."

Eddie took a few deep breaths. "Dr. Harris, I want this hawkshaw (xiv) ejected. He is not here in my best interest."

"Lieutenant Masen," the man said. "May I not send word to your mother that you are well? Your parents have been frantic for over three years. Will you not at least—"

"Send my love to my mother. And tell them… I am fine. And that I will not be coming home."

"Lieutenant—"

"I have nothing more to say to this gentleman." The room grew so quiet that the ticking of the clock became overbearing. At last, the man stepped forward, sought Eddie's hand and shook it. "You're a brave soul, Lieutenant Masen, and so I shall tell your parents. I wish you every success, sir."

"Do you?" Edward said coldly.

"Indeed, I do, and I shall remember you every day for the rest of my life. God bless." After clasping Eddie's shoulder kindly, he departed.

Eddie shrugged away his nerves and crossed his arms. "Perhaps, to be polite, Dr. Harris, you could _introduce_ me to the other gentlemen in this room."

"Forgive me," Harris said. "You have adapted so well that I forget you cannot see. Lieutenant Ashby is here to record a report of your physical state, in order to document your discharge."

"Lieutenant." Edward stuck out his hand and Ashby took it. It did not escape Eddie's notice that the man had a good look at his hand while they shook. In fact, he turned it over and inspected it from various angles.

"Looks like he'll still be able to fire a gun."

Eddie calmly withdrew his hand from view. "In case it has escaped your notice, _I can't see_."

"Well, that's the issue isn't it, Lieutenant?" an older-sounding Englishman said cheerfully. "How bad it is, and whether it's permanent."

Eddie licked his lip nervously. The man got right up close to him. He was balding, with white hair and faded blue eyes, and wore a kind smile. Eddie immediately took a shine to him.

"I am Dr. Heath. I have some experience restoring vision." (xv)

Eddie wiped his palms on his trousers and shook hands with him. "You'll be able to tell me? If I'm blind forever?"

"Hard to say, most of the time. Ocular science is a very new field of study. But I should be able to tell if your eyes are healing. You'll allow me to look?"

"Yes, of course."

"Very good. I will need to move your chair over by the window."

Before Dr. Heath could move, Eddie picked up his chair and angled himself in it as directed.

"You're rather a useful person, aren't you? Like to do things for yourself."

Ashby scribbled notes loudly.

Eddie grimaced. "I'm blind, not lame. And I'm not a dunce."

"Of course not. All right, I'm going to hold up this lens to your eye and use my mirror to reflect light into it. It may be painful."

"Okay."

The doctor got his face so close to Eddie's that their cheeks touched. He wore far too much cologne. A sharp beam of light entered Eddie's left eye and he yelped. The doctor rubbed Eddie's shoulder while Eddie pressed his palm to his stinging eye.

"Okay, okay, that's enough. May I examine the other?"

Eddie took deep breaths as tears welled. "Give me a minute."

"Come on," Ashby groused. "We haven't got all day."

"For God's sake, man!" Dr. Harris snapped. "Give him a moment!"

"We have more soldiers to see."

"I'll remind you that this man took four German officers prisoner at St. Julien when he was fifteen years old!"

"Exactly. So we want to know when we can have him back. If he's _really_ that brave—"

"I'm all right now." Eddie tried to quash the tremble in his voice.

"You _are_ a brave man," Dr. Heath said. "Don't let anyone imply otherwise." He shone light into Eddie's right eye. It was still sharp but not nearly as painful. "This one's your better eye, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Is he going to be able to see, or not?" Ashby snapped. There was dead silence.

"Dr. Harris," Dr. Heath said calmly, "Will you give Lieutenant Masen a cold cloth, please?"

"Indeed." Dr. Harris poured water out of his drinking pitcher onto a large white handkerchief and passed it to Eddie, who pressed it to his eyes and sighed.

"Lieutenant Ashby," Dr. Heath directed, "write up Lieutenant Masen an Honourable Discharge due to functional blindness. Ensure he gets his Silver War Badge, his campaign medals and anything else to which he is entitled. Dr. Harris, your secretary should do up all the paperwork for Lieutenant Masen's pension and future educational training, and I will be glad to sign any and all supporting documents."

"Thank you, Doctor," Harris said. "Shall we take a break and go for dinner now?"

"Not yet." Dr. Heath sank to one knee beside Eddie. "All right, are you ready to hear my possibly-useful opinion?"

Eddie gripped his knees. He wished they wouldn't tremble in front of Ashby, who had, for some reason, an awful lot of disdain for him. He nodded curtly.

"In my professional opinion, there's a tonne of shit in your eyes that doesn't belong."

Eddie laughed a bit. "Will you put that in the report?"

"In so many words. Some of the shrapnel may work its way out. Some of it may embed itself further in." This wasn't news. Dr. Marcus had told Bella that months before and she had relayed the message to Eddie. "However," Dr. Heath continued, "there's one piece that's quite pricking your left eye. Can you feel it when you blink? On your lower lid?"

"Yes."

"Removing it probably won't improve your vision, but if it stays in, it may shift and cause more damage. In my opinion, it should come out."

"How?"

"If you're up to it, I'll do it right now."

Eddie gulped. "Now?"

"I'm going for my dinner," Ashby said loudly. "I'll come back afterward to work on the papers." He beat a hasty retreat.

"And that man treats you like a malingerer," (xvi) Heath whispered. "He's the coward in the room." Eddie hummed a laugh despite himself.

"The foreign body is visible to the naked eye so I don't really want to sedate you. Laudanum would give you a sick stomach for hours. Removing the speck will only take a few seconds."

"All right."

"Dr. Harris, please assist me by standing where I am now."

"Of course."

"Let me just get my tweezers." He stepped away and back again. "Now, Edward, Dr. Harris will hold your face quite firmly. I want you to stare at him. Do not move your eyes toward me."

Unless he wanted his eyeball to resemble a scrambled egg. "Understood." Eddie tried not to get his wind up as Dr. Heath showed Dr. Harris how to position Eddie's face. Dr. Harris gripped Eddie securely between his hands.

"Steady on, good man," he said, his brown eyes bright but reflecting concern.

There was a rush of motion and a horrible metal-clacking-on-metal sound, and then the feeling of something smooth squelching and slipping through his eyeball. _Oh, God, oh God, oh God…_

The thing in his eye twisted and jammed.

"F-fuck!" Eddie cried, and Dr. Harris held him in a viselike grip.

"Don't move, Eddie. Keep still, there's a good fellow."

Eddie grasped Harris's wrists. "Ow!" Tears welled and soaked his cheeks.

Harris attempted to look encouraging. "Steady on. He's nearly done." Eddie kept still but his breath hummed in and out with fright.

Dr. Heath turned the tweezers and the pain vanished for an instant, to be replaced by burning. "All done. I have it."

Dr. Harris handed Eddie the wet handkerchief, and Eddie managed to bring it to his eye without dropping it. He reeled and Dr. Harris pulled him over to lean against his torso.

"Such a brave lad," he said while Eddie tried not to pass out.

"This must have caused quite a lot of pain," Dr. Heath mused. "Can you see it, Edward?"

Eddie straightened up and angled his right eye toward him. The shard was like a big splinter—a full centimetre long—and it was grayish white.

"What is it?" Harris asked. "Wood?"

"Oh, no," Heath scoffed. "It's bone."

Eddie's voice caught. "It's D-Dildo. Douglass. Jeremy Douglass, Sapper, Blue Puttees."

︻┳═一

Isobel expected to find Eddie in the patients' canteen, but saw only Emmett. He frantically waved her over.

"Hello, Cap! Where's Eddie?"

Emmett's throat worked desperately. "Jazz!"

"Jasper's with Eddie?"

Emmett nodded and pointed at his eye. "Out."

"I dinnae understand, dearie."

Emmett picked up his spoon, aimed it at his eye and pretended to scoop out his eyeball. "Out. Ops. Ops Mace Out."

"Isobel's heart flew into her throat. "Are ye trying to tell me Eddie's had an operation?"

Emmett nodded with obvious relief. Isobel spun on her heel and hot-footed it upstairs.

︻┳═一

When she tiptoed into his room, she found the draperies closed and the room dim. Jasper was sitting on the right side of Eddie's cot, fully dressed. Eddie was curled up under the covers with his back to him, facing the window. He was dressed in his pyjamas. Isobel peeked at his face. His left eye was bandaged and he was asleep with his mouth open.

"What's happened?" Bella whispered.

Jasper sighed and rubbed his right temple with the heel of his hand. "I don't know what's wrong with our Brass."

"Jasper."

"He's doped to the gills on laudanum. Evidently some eye surgeon looked at him this afternoon, and decided to pluck some shrapnel out of Mace's bad eye while he was fully conscious and watching. Moron didn't even think to give Mace something to relax him, first. Doc Harris said the surgeon plucked out a piece of human bone. Mace told them about Dildo and then had hysterics. They couldn't calm him down. He was screaming when the orderlies brought him in."

"Dildo?"

"One of his enlisted men. Mace said he couldn't follow an order to save his life. Dildo stepped on one of Mace's mines. That's why he can't see."

"Dildo's in his eyes." Bella closed hers. "That's what he meant. Dear God. Poor Eddie."

︻┳═一

Isobel couldn't have appeared more frightening if she'd been storming across No Man's Land in Ypres. She marched straight for Dr. Harris, who was standing blithely in the lobby.

"Ah, Mrs. Masen," Dr. Harris inclined his head and gestured toward his office. "Thank you for coming. I want to have a word about your husband."

Isobel clenched her fists and resisted demanding what the hell he'd been thinking. "From now on, Doctor, I insist upon being informed in advance if mae husband is tae haff any medical procedures done."

"It was a spur of the moment decision. Dr. Heath felt it couldn't wait. Please do come in." He strolled over to the very chair Eddie had sat upon that morning, and placed his hands on the back so she might sit safely. He strode around her and hitched a hip onto the corner of his desk. "Your husband is an amazing man."

She blinked, then, raised her chin. "He is."

"I have a great deal of respect for him. No doubt, he will be able to leave this hospital soon."

"He is getting better, is he not?"

Dr. Harris tipped down his chin and eyed her candidly. "Do you have reason to believe he isn't?"

"No. He told me it was the shock and he will not harm himself again."

"That is also my impression." The doctor tucked his chin and looked at her intently. "You know about the nightmares?"

"I do. They are the worst when he is alone. When I am with him, I can soothe him and he does nae start tae scream."

"You do not fear him?"

She looked down and smiled. "No. Almost since we met, I have been afraid for him, but I have neffer been afraid of him."

Dr. Harris sighed and looked out the window. "Some of the men who have night terrors get violent in their sleep."

"I know. It happened all the time in Flanders."

"I have had men here who tried to strangle the nurses who were trying to wake them."

"Eddie?"

"No, not Eddie. But it could happen."

"I dinnae think so. He's a sweet man."

"He's been stoic during his time here. That's why I didn't think he needed to be sedated this morning."

"The man's aye stubborn."

"He'll need to be stubborn to adapt to civilian life."

"Yes."

"Mrs. Masen, I am wondering…"

"Yes?"

"What your opinion might be. Do you think it would be a horrible idea for me to offer your husband a job?"

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

i **Phantom limb** : when a person suffers an amputation, he or she can often feel the missing part. Sometimes one will bend to scratch an itchy foot that isn't there. It's disconcerting and frustrating.

ii **Plonk** : red wine

iii **Quince** : a small English fruit that tastes like a very mild apple. I love quince jam. My aunt's neighbour had a tree but when she moved, no more quince for us. Sigh. It's very hard to get here in Canada.

iv **Humdinger** : something outstanding or excellent.

v It's really a wonder the human race has survived. In Edwardian times, it was preferable to produce **bread** that was as white and heavy as possible. To that end, the merchants who sold the flour would adulterate it with such ingredients as plaster of Paris, alum, bean flour or chalk.

vi **Fags** : cigarettes. Rothman was a brand owned by Phillip Morris Co. Rothman went out of business in the 1990s. Dunhill is an old British tobacconist, which is now one of the ten most expensive brands in the world. Smokers claim it's a superior product. I wouldn't know. Actually, I've never even tried a cigarette. My grandfather, however, was addicted to Rothman's since childhood. He ended up an 8-pack-a-day smoker and passed away in his sleep at age 89, never knowing he had lung cancer.

vii **Lucifers:** The Lucifer Match Company made wooden matches with tips that contained phosphorus.

viii Dunhill's **aquarium-themed lighters** were extremely popular and are valuable today. There's a picture of one on my Facebook.

ix **The First Battle of the Aisne** : Sept 12, 1914 to Sept 28, 1914. The Germans retreated after the Battle of the Marne and found a place to entrench themselves beside the River Aisne. The Allies and the Germans were fighting tired. However, the German Army was better at defending its lines than it was at accomplishing offenses. Neither side could gain the upper hand. Finally, both sides began to edge toward the north in a campaign that would come to be known as The Race to the Sea.

x **Neurasthenia** was a vague term coined in 1869, which was applied to a wide variety of "nervous" disorders. Today, the Neurasthenia cases described in the Great War would likely be comparable to cases of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Officers during the Great War were particularly susceptible. To be diagnosed with **Shell Shock** was to be exposed to the ruling opinion that it was hypochondriac and the sufferer was merely a coward. Upper Brass didn't want their officers to be seen as malingering cowards, so they named the officers' form of Shell Shock—which _was_ markedly different from Shell Shock— **Neurasthenia**. Those with Neurasthenia tended to lapse into fugue states, lose track of what was going on around them, and forget the words for things. They had the recognizable symptoms of exhaustion combined with what we now know to be Post-traumatic Stress.

xi **Red tape** : it is thought that Spain's King Charles V began to bind his most urgent court documents in red tape in the 1500s, signifying that they were to be opened before documents that were bound with ordinary twine. Over time, its use became widespread. Now the term refers to the systematic collection or sequencing of forms and procedures required to gain bureaucratic approval for something, especially when the procedures are oppressively complex and inhibit action.

xii **Jake** : all right, okay, on the up-and-up

xiii **Knock your block off** : beat you severely. The word _block_ , meaning _head_ , has been in use since the 1600s but this idiomatic phrase only came into use around 1908.

xiv **Hawkshaw** : detective

xv There were no **ophthalmologists** before the end of the war. WWI created the need for two entirely new orders of medicine: eye surgeons and surgeons who specialized in facial reconstruction. WWI also caused the emergence of blood transfusions and IV drips (for hydration and wound irrigation), but not before late 1917.

xvi **Malingerer** : a person who pretends illness or disability in order to shirk his or her duties.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18:

︻┳═一

Sept 30, 1916:

︻┳═一

Isobel changed into her uniform skirt and a blouse and returned to Eddie's room after having her tea with Mrs. Biggins, exhausted from the long day and scarcely able to put two thoughts together. Dr. Harris was a confounding man—and so she had told him, along with exactly what she thought of doctors performing a procedure on a man's eyes without any sort of sedation. Mother Biggins had been suitably shocked and had ably expressed her low opinion of the competence of the man who was employed to restore Eddie to sanity. Her support greatly eased Isobel's temper.

Harris and Heath could at least have given Eddie an aqueous extract of cannabis. When confronted, Harris had acknowledged that he might have questioned his colleague's opinion. It was fortunate that he showed remorse, or Isobel would have slapped him. And as he would likely become Eddie's boss, that wouldn't have been the sharpest thing to do.

If Eddie's spirit had been done a permanent harm, she swore she'd march down to the beach, help herself to some soldier's Enfield, and pay a call upon Dr. Heath.

Never would Isobel have bet one penny that Harris would wish to offer Eddie a job. Furthermore, she didn't know what to think of putting her husband to work with mentally-damaged men. It might make him strong again but she knew how wearing it was to nurse men who were desperately ill. It might just as easily sap his strength.

Of course, Eddie had a knack for helping such people.

She pushed open his door and stopped short. The room was dark. Eddie was weeping, tucked under the covers of his cot. Jasper was lying on his side, his back to Eddie's front. Emmett was pressed up behind Eddie with an arm thrown over both men. Their comfort didn't seem to be doing any good.

"Mother," Eddie whimpered. "Mother…"

Bloody doctors.

Jasper sat up. "Ah, good, you're back." He got off the cot, staggered over, took Isobel's hat and escorted her to Eddie's side. "He's still addled."

"Does he know where he is?"

Jasper lifted Isobel onto the edge of the bed. He bent down and removed her shoes. She opened her mouth to protest the familiarity, but shut it again. The man meant no disrespect. "He just keeps saying, 'My eye,' like it pains him."

"So he doesnae think he's back… there." She leaned back, put her feet on the bed and pressed her back against Eddie, who automatically embraced her although he didn't stop crying. She hated seeing him in tears but her da had always said, "Better out than in."

"Doesn't seem to be lost in the past," Jasper said. "He yelled for you earlier."

Isobel nodded. "I'm sorry. I was putting a flea in Dr. Harris's ear. These civilian types are such dildos."

Jasper's eyes shone with appreciation.

"Dildo," Eddie echoed.

"Hush, now, Eddie. I'm here. Everything is all right."

He gripped her skirt in his fingers and hid his face against her shoulders. "Dildo. Dildo. He's not in my eye anymore."

"No."

"What will they do with him? I asked Harris but he wouldn't say. It's not right. It's not _right_."

Isobel's mouth went dry. "What isn't right, love?"

"They can't throw him in the dustbin. I haven't even written his mother." He pressed his hand against his bandage. "It hurts. They should have left him there. I was okay with him there. Now it's not okay. It burns. Maybe they should put him back."

"Rest, Eddie. I'll talk to Dr. Harris in the morning."

"You will?"

"I promise."

"What will they do with him? They can't send back half an inch of man to his mother."

"Hush, love."

"They won't send him home. I was his guardian and now he's going to end up in the dump. It's wrong. Everything about it's wrong!"

"I'll talk to Harris now," Jasper said darkly.

"What are you going to do?" Eddie shook his head. "Dildo was safe with me and now he's lost."

"He won't be lost," Jasper said. "I promise."

"What are you going to do?" Bella asked softly.

"I'm going to get Dildo."

︻┳═一

An hour later, Jasper shuffled back into the room. Eddie was still fretting but his tears had abated.

"Mace, I have something for you," Jasper said. Eddie propped himself up on his elbow. Jasper took his hand and placed a small, brown glass pill bottle in it. But he didn't let go of Eddie's hand. "You have to promise me you won't do anything crazy. You can't put him back in your body."

"I know," Eddie said. "All right. The damage is done. Is this…"

"It's in the bottle." Jasper released his grip on Eddie.

"Dildo? He's in here?" Eddie gave the bottle a gentle shake and it made a faint rattling sound.

"Yes. I thought maybe Bella could bring you one of those pieces of mourning jewelry the old folks always seem to have around."

"A reliquary," Isobel said, her heart lifting. "A little enamelled box we can keep on the mantle."

"No, a ring," Eddie said energetically. "Something that won't tarnish with wear."

"White gold, love?"

"Yes, I'd like that."

"And then," Jasper said, "someday—if you write to his mother—you can see if his folks want him back. And if not, you can keep him."

"Yes." Eddie clutched the bottle. "Yes, and either way, he'll be safe. I'll write to his mother and see if she wants me to send him home. He should be with his family."

"Good call," Jasper said. Eddie sat up and reached for Jasper. They embraced awkwardly for several seconds, overtop of Isobel.

"Thank you," Eddie said.

"You are most welcome. Now, how about some supper?"

"No, my stomach's upset." He lay down again between Isobel and Emmett, the little bottle clutched in his hand. "I just want to sleep."

"Sleep, then," Isobel said.

︻┳═一

October 1, 1916

︻┳═一

Eyes shut, Isobel listened to cheerful birdsong and thanked God for it. Sunlight permeated her eyelids with a warm, amber glow. Eddie was curled up behind her, his fingers splayed out across her busk. She realized she'd spent the night spooning with him and there hadn't been any bad dreams at all. His touch was nothing like that of the Frenchie. Her lips tipped up softly.

A hand touched hers and she opened blurry eyes. Dr. Harris sat back in the visitor's chair, his finger pressed against his smile. He was obviously amused. Isobel felt her cheeks heat.

"Don't get up, ma'am," he breathed.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You must be exhausted."

"Yes."

Harris tipped up his chin. "How is he?"

"He slept through the night. As soon as he had his… souvenir, he settled right down."

"Hale arrived just in the nick of time. Dr. Heath had thrown the bone fragment in my wastebasket and the custodian normally empties it as soon as I leave for tea."

"Eddie wants to set it in a ring."

"If that comforts him, it's as good a solution as any."

"Is it nae morbid?"

"No more morbid than our parents making wreaths out of hair, or propping up dead people to take their photographs."

"So I shouldnae worry?"

"I don't think he'll mourn forever, but … he has much to mourn."

"Yes."

︻┳═一

"May I help you, ma'am?" the leonine shopkeeper asked, beaming.

"Do ye make mourning rings?"

His smile faded and his bright blue eyes turned indigo. "Have you suffered a loss, dear lady?"

"It isnae for me, it's for mae husband."

"Well, I can. They're not exactly in fashion anymore. Everything's diamond and platinum now." (i)

"This is a special case. It is to be the reliquary of a soldier who was blown up in Beaumont-Hamel. All we have is this." Isobel extracted the small bottle from her pocket and set it gently on the desk.

The jeweler peered at the bottle. "Oh, dear."

"Yes, quite."

"Is the deceased family?"

"No. My husband was his commanding officer. He wishes to preserve the," she gestured at the bottle, "remains in a fitting manner, so that he may wear it until we contact thae young man's family and send him safely home."

She tried not to think about what would happen if the Douglasses didn't want their son's remains back.

"What a lovely idea." The jeweler picked up the bottle and squinted at it. "May I?"

"Of course."

He took out a black velvet cloth, unstopped the bottle and tipped the bone fragment out onto it. "War is a dreadful thing."

"Yes." Isobel couldn't stop staring at the shard that had been in Eddie's eye. He must have been in such pain. "Can ye make me something suitable?"

"I could seal the relic in glass but if the lad's parents ever want to change the jewelry, they wouldn't be able to get it out."

"I was thinking of something more like a box or locket. Something where the bone willnae be visible. And mae great aunt had a mourning ring with skull on it. I dinnae want that. Nothing morbid."

"Like an old Gregorian ring. Something with a compartment."

"Yes."

"What can you tell me of your husband?"

"He's a survivor of Beaumont-Hamel. He has much grief to bear."

"Oh, God bless. I was, however, thinking more about his taste in jewelry."

"He doesnae wear any."

"Would he prefer something simple, do you think?"

"Yes."

"Let me show you some of the estate pieces I have, and you can tell me if you'd care for something similar." He reached into a couple of cases and placed the rings on the velvet. Isobel picked up a gold ring enamelled with a blue and yellow crest.

"Trafalgar."

"It's a lovely piece, isn't it?"

"Indeed."

"The man who sold it to me said it belonged to his father."

"He didnae keep it?"

"The young do not understand."

Isobel returned the ring to the velvet. "I would sooner say that civilians dinnae understand."

"I apologize, madam. The young…"

"Know what war means. At least, they do now." She touched the ring. "I like the embossed lettering."

"I am rather partial to _this_ lettering." The jeweler held out a plain band, gold around the edges and black in the middle, with raised gold letters encircling the band.

"Oh, that is lovely." Isobel felt the bumpy letters. Eddie would be able to feel the words. "I like that, but there's nowhere to put D-Douglass's remains."

"I thought, perhaps, something like this. It's the only casket ring I have to show you but it's Gregorian and very old-fashioned."

Isobel took the ring. It had a hinged compartment on top that would be large enough to hold the shard of bone. The face of the ring was black and embedded with seed pearls in the shape of a cross. The gleaming gold bevels of the face displayed a date.

"If this were not quite so feminine, it would suit perfectly."

"What are your thoughts?"

"I like the cross and I like the design, but it's very ornate."

"So, plainer and more masculine."

"We were thinking of something that could be worn by a man or a woman. And my husband asked for white gold."

"Very nice. I can make the ring of white gold and keep the black enamel face. I could do the cross in smoked crystal instead of pearls." (ii)

"Yes. And the date should be July 1st, 1916."

"With a name or initials?"

"Can ye put 'Jeremy Douglass, Blue Puttees, Beamont-Hamel'? With two Esses in Douglass?"

"I shall see what I can do." The jeweler scratched down notes on his pad.

"Oh, and since my husband is in thae hospital, we cut a bit of twine to measure his finger."

"Good. That will help me to judge how much lettering will fit."

"Excellent." Isobel reached out and touched the other, plain black and gold band again. "I should like to have a man and woman's set like this, too."

"Ma'am?"

"Please make a pair just like this, that says, 'July 1st, 1916, Beaumont-Hamel, in Mem of The Blue Puttees'."

︻┳═一

October 7, 1916

︻┳═一

Isobel escorted Eddie downstairs to Dr. Harris's office, trying not to chew a hole right through her own lip. If the appointment went poorly, she would need to soften the blow. She knocked and the door swung open immediately.

"Ah, Mrs. and Lieutenant Masen." Dr. Harris welcomed them inside, where a balding man in a white coat stood smiling. "Please come in. This is Dr. Heath, Mrs. Masen."

"You are the Army Nurse!" he exclaimed. "How wonderful."

Isobel regarded him coldly. "You are the gentleman who operated upon my husband without employing sedation."

He nodded at her, his friendly smile undiminished. "I did not expect the shard to be so large. My apologies. I promise to employ your husband's history as a caution from now on."

"It is fortunate that Eddie has experienced no lasting harm."

"Isobel," Eddie muttered.

"He shouldnae haff done it," she muttered back.

"Indeed. I am most relieved to find your spirits restored, Lieutenant." Heath reached for Eddie's hand. "Welcome, do come in. It's lovely to see you again. How are you faring?"

"I'm all right."

"Good! It's time to have a look under the bandages."

"Yes, sir." Eddie took his usual seat and Isobel noticed as he brushed his hand over the pocket containing the small brown bottle he carried everywhere. He didn't know that Dildo was no longer inside it. "You're not going to shine the light in my eyes today, are you?"

"Not if you don't feel up to it. But I do need to see how your eye is healing."

"All right."

Dr. Heath unwound Eddie's bandage and carefully removed the gauze covering his eye. "Take your time to adjust to the light. There's no rush."

Eddie slowly opened his eyes and shut them again. He blinked for several seconds until he was able to keep both eyes open. In the bright light entering the window, all his scars, both tiny and substantial, were made visible, including small dents and scratches in his eyes.

"How does it feel?" Dr. Heath asked cheerfully.

"Better. When I blink it doesn't pain me."

"Good. When you're ready, will you kindly look up at me?"

Eddie tipped up his chin but was not able to direct his gaze upward for nearly a minute. Isobel gasped. For the first time since she'd found him in Number Six Hospital, his eyes weren't puffy. And the inside of his lower left eyelid was no longer an angry red, but rather, a healthy pink.

"Oh, yes, that is better. May I touch your lower lids?"

"Yes."

"Nurse Masen, I should like you to observe. Stand behind me, please."

"All right."

Dr. Heath gently placed his thumbs below Eddie's eyes. "Keep your head still. When you are able, turn your eyes to the left. No, not your head, just your eyes." Eddie winced but did as he was told. "Excellent. To the right." That was obviously harder for him. It took him a few seconds to do it and his eyes glistened with moisture. "Good. Down." Eddie could do that easily. He often looked down when he was relaxed. "Now, up." That was obviously the most difficult instruction. Tears swam. And then, a black dot appeared on the inside of his bottom lid.

"Ah, now, see? There are still bits working their way out."

"Is it more of… Douglass?" Eddie asked.

"No, this merely appears to be grit. Now, every day, I want you to do the exercises I just went through with you. Have Mrs. Masen or a friend supervise. And afterward, I want you to take some lukewarm, boiled water and pour it from a jug into your eyes. It might wash out some of the debris."

"Okay."

"We're going to do that now. At home, Mrs. Masen can pour the water for you. Here, come to the basin on the table."

"All right." Eddie stood and placed his hands on the table. He bent over the wash basin as though to wash his face.

"Mrs. Masen, will you stand ready with the towel?"

"Yes, doctor."

Dr. Heath coaxed Eddie's head right down to the bowl. "Now, Lieutenant, when you tip your head to the side, I'm going to pour the water. Try to blink a few times. Do your best to get the water in your eye. I want you to use a whole jug for each eye, once a day for the next week."

"Okay."

When the doctor began to pour the water, Eddie grunted, but he managed to follow the doctor's orders. Isobel was appalled to see how discoloured the water became. She didn't wish to ask Dr. Heath about it in front of Eddie.

"Good job. Other one, now."

Eddie shuddered and turned his face the other way. Again, the doctor poured the water. A speck of something glinted against the bottom of the china basin. As Eddie allowed the last of the water to trickle into the basin, a drop of blood followed the speck.

"All right, dear fellow." Dr. Heath took the towel from Isobel and held it under Eddie's face. Eddie took it, blotted his eyes and neck and rubbed his hair, leaving it stuck up all over. He used the towel to brush it flat. Dr. Heath steered him back to the chair. "Let's have a look, now."

He placed his thumbs on Eddie's lower lids again. "Good, they're clear for the moment. How do they feel?"

"A bit better." When Dr. Heath released Eddie's face, Eddie pressed the towel to his eyes.

"Washed quite a large metal fragment out of your left. I'm not promising this will help you to see any better, but it will help to clear out anything foreign that's floating around in your knob." (iii)

"Yeah," came from behind the towel.

Dr. Heath touched Isobel's arm lightly. "Ensure you follow this procedure like clockwork every day at home, until I tell you to stop."

"I will," she said.

"I can answer for myself, doctor," Eddie groused. "And I will follow your orders."

Dr. Heath continued to address Isobel. "I want you to bring him to my office in a week. I have better facilities there to test his eyes."

"You needn't conscript my wife to babysit me," Eddie said loudly.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but we all know who runs the show at home. Just ask my wife."

Eddie emerged from the towel. "You're not going to operate on my eyes again, are you?"

"I wish I could. I haven't the skill. The fragments in your eyes are embedded too deeply to remove without causing further injury. And the existing damage from their movement is not repairable."

"So, I'm blind forever." He said it as though it didn't matter. Isobel's eyes stung but she would not embarrass him with tears.

Dr. Heath patted his arm. "We may improve your vision yet."

"How?"

"I have my ways. Will you come and see me next week?"

"Of course."

"Good. Nurse Masen, here is my card with the address. The appointment time is written on the back."

"Thank you."

"Not at all." He stepped closer to her. "I made a mistake because he didn't hesitate to accept my suggestion. Such a brave lad. Do you forgive me?"

"This time."

Dr. Heath tipped Isobel a jaunty salute. Isobel arched a brow and gave him one back that was regulation military. Dr. Heath appeared delighted. "Goodbye, Edward."

"Bye, doctor."

With another grin at Isobel, he departed. She returned to her husband's side.

"Now that that's out of the way," Dr. Harris said, "we have some papers to sign."

"Oh," Eddie said. "I guess it's as good a time as any."

Dr. Harris gestured at his desk. "Mrs. Masen, these are Eddie's discharge papers." He held out his chair and invited her to sit. "Will you read them to him, please?"

Isobel looked at both sets of official documents. "There's one pile from Newfoundland and one from Canada."

Harris's eyes twinkled. "Yes. We didn't want anybody trying to get him back."

Isobel cleared her throat. "The one from Canada is an aye pretty certificate. It has a picture of an Old Sweat standing before Britannia and it says, 'First Lieutenant Anthony Edward Masen of Canada's First Division is, by virtue of injuries sustained in the Great War, honourably discharged from the Canadian Forces on October 14th, 1915'." Her mouth dropped open. "It's signed by King Edward."

"Really?" Eddie asked softly.

"Yes, and there's a poppy." She handed him the red and green embroidered badge and he held it to his heart. (iv)

" _Je me souviens_."

"The paper with it is the official discharge report that details your service. 'To Whom It May Concern: Private Anthony Edward Masen, weight 135 pounds, height 5'10", chest 33", eyes green, hair red, enlisted in Toronto in the Canadian Infantry in April of 1914 under Captain Emmett McCarty and served with distinction at St. Julien in April of 1915, where he took four German prisoners despite suffering from burns contracted from mustard gas, requiring two weeks' stay in Base Hospital Three. He subsequently served at the Ypres Salient from May of 1915 to October of 1915, requiring a brief stay in Base Hospital Five due to a skin infection, at which time he was promoted to Ensign for executing a traitor and transferred to the Newfoundland Army, First Division. The Canadian Army thanks you for valiant service and recommends you for the Canadian Service Medal."

"The third paper wants your signature," Harris crossed his arms. "It's your statement that you accept the terms of your discharge, which include a lifetime pension of eight shillings a week, a retirement dispensation of five pounds for your two years of service, and a twenty-five pound gratuity for permanent disability."

"That's what it says, love," Isobel confirmed. Eddie pressed his lips together, rose, and gestured at the paper.

"Where do I sign?"

"Here."

Eddie felt the place Isobel was marking with her fingers. He took the fountain pen and nearly dropped it, feeling awkward without the end of his thumb. He did his best to sign the paper with a flourish. "Does it resemble my signature?"

"It's lovely," Isobel said. "Shall I read ye the papers from Newfoundland, now?"

"Please."

"Ensign Anthony Edward Masen, weight 140 pounds, height 6'0", chest 35", eyes green, hair red, transferred from the Canadian Army, First Division to the Newfoundland First Battalion, also known as the Blue Puttees, on October 14th of 1915. He married Isobel Maire Swan of London, UK on that date. He served for three months in Cairo, Egypt where he trained sappers in geology, construction and hand-to-hand combat and was promoted to Second Lieutenant before leading a troop of twenty men on campaigns in the Dardanelles in January of 1916. He spent February in hospital after being burned and shot by a stick bomb. His conduct was at all times superior. He distinguished himself at Gallipoli, where his troop took twenty Turks prisoner, and was promoted to First Lieutenant in March of 1916. He led sixty men valiantly in the Somme until July 1st, 1916, where he was severely injured at the Battle of Beaumont-Hamel and is no longer fit to serve. He is to be awarded all suitable medals and honours. Lieutenant Masen, The Dominion of Newfoundland thanks you for your heroic service and wishes you God's blessings.' It's signed by Prime Minister Edward Morris. And look, there's this." She held out a decorative, embroidered badge to Eddie and he took it and held it up to his better eye.

"Ah, I was so jealous of the fellows who had one of these," he said with a grin. "The Caribou Emblem of the Newfoundlanders. (v) My boys said the ambulance crews sold these in St. John's in our honour back before I joined up. Will you sew it to my cap, Bella?"

"Of course, love." She took it back from him and placed it on the desk where she could admire it.

"Is there something from them for me to sign?"

"Yes," Harris said. "You must sign to accept the terms of your discharge, which include a pension of eight shillings a week for life, which shall continue to be dispensed to Mrs. Masen should she survive you, a retirement dispensation of two-and-a-half pounds for your year of service, and a fifty pound gratuity for permanent disability."

Eddie looked stunned. "But… that means I'll be making more money now than I did in the army."

"I told you they're revering survivors as heroes."

Eddie gestured with the doctor's pen and Isobel showed him where to sign. "I'm not a hero but I'm not about to turn the money down."

"There's something else I hope you'll consider," Harris said.

"What's that?"

"A job. Here. Working with me, with the men like McCarty and Hale."

"A job," Eddie echoed. "You want me to work here, with you?"

"I do."

"I have no training!"

"You can learn. Although, your lack of preconceived notions of what will help the men works in your favour. I don't wish you to lose your instincts once you read the textbooks."

Eddie blinked and huffed a laugh. "I think there's little hope of that happening." He tipped his head to the side. "How am I supposed to read?"

"Mrs. Masen can read to you. And should you decide to take classes, she can audit the class as your assistant and take notes."

Eddie placed his hands on his hips. "You think I can do this?"

"Don't you?"

"Well!" Eddie held out his hand. "You have yourself a blind, opinionated, uneducated assistant."

"Splendid. You'll work from oh-six-hundred to eighteen hundred daily, and eat dinner in the canteen with the men. Sundays off. Saturdays are payday. You'll get a pound a week."

"Good lord!" It was a lot more money than he'd been making as a lieutenant.

"Oh, fine. A pound and six shillings." Isobel's heart flipped. She prayed Eddie would say yes. He looked horrified and knowing Eddie, it was because he'd just accidentally begged himself a ludicrously large increase.

"And Nurse Masen," Harris continued, "if you will come to read to the men on Saturday afternoons, I will give you six shillings a week."

"Why me?" she gasped. Six shillings a week to do a little pleasant reading? It was a princely sum.

"The men are not intimidated by you because you're a woman, but they don't intimidate you, either. You're accustomed to the soldiers' cant. Their rough language and salacious humour don't seem to offend you."

"No," she agreed ruefully. "I probably know more rough language than mae husband."

Harris and Eddie laughed.

︻┳═一

He was getting out. One more night in the hospital and then, he'd go home with Bella.

Somehow, he had to tell Jazz and Cap.

Eddie had so many thoughts in his head he couldn't string them together. He held Bella's arm as they wandered in silence down the garden path. The events of the day were so overwhelming that he didn't know how to talk. He was dearly afraid that he might cry in front of Bella again. How could she respect him as a man if he behaved like a baby?

Somehow, they ended up holding hands on the bench that had become their special place.

"What are ye thinking, love?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. It's all so strange."

"Why?"

"You'll… think I'm mad."

"I doubt it."

He gnawed on his lip and carefully considered what he wanted to say. "I'm not sorry I'm blind."

Bella squeezed his hand. "I know."

"There are things I will regret, like having a clear look at you… at children… but I'm free of the fighting now. And I won't be an invalid. I can support us. I can help people and…" A lump swelled in his throat. "Am I wrong? Am I a coward?"

"Of course not. War is madness."

"I'm tired of being a destroyer. I want to rebuild."

Bella set her chin on his shoulder and hugged his arm. "Ah, Eddie. I love ye sae much."

Only he would consider ruining the mood. "I would like you to consider resigning from the hospital."

Bella hummed a laugh. "I gave mae notice two weeks ago. Yesterday was mae last day."

He gawped at her. "Were you planning to tell me?"

"Eventually."

"When?"

"When Dr. Harris followed through on his intention to offer you a job."

"You knew!"

"Aye."

They both started to chuckle. After a few minutes, Eddie put his arm around her and kissed her on the forehead. "You're such a minx." He kissed a path down her neck and trailed his tongue over her skin.

"Don't start!" she said but tipped her head back in invitation anyway. "Ye'll be home tomorrow and I willnae let ye set a foot out of bed all day."

"Even to use the WC?"

"It'll be too hard to do naked. I'll snag ye a urinal on the way out."

Eddie snorted and tickled his wife. Somehow, he managed to wrestle her onto his lap. Of course, she wasn't really objecting to his attention. He kissed her with longing and without breaking away, she scrambled up, lifted her skirt and straddled him. They managed between them to free his buttons and he groaned into her mouth as their bodies met. Every bit of him felt deliciously alive. It had been so long since they'd lain together and the thought of having her unclothed, with no threat of interruption and the ability to touch one another without encumbrance consumed him. He quickened his pace and thumbed her sensitive spot frantically.

Isobel broke their kiss and panted in his ear. "I want a bairn!"

"God, yes!" Throwing back his head he released into her and she strangled a cry and followed him, all aquiver. Her body spasmed around him, almost choking him with ecstasy. He willed his payload to strike its target. Bella mewled and shuddered in fits and starts, her movements gradually changing from erratic to languid.

She sagged against him. "I maun lie down." She stood awkwardly and tottered a bit. Eddie tucked himself away with one hand while steadying her with the other.

"Did I wear you out?"

Bella lay down on the bench and placed her head in his lap. "No. Mother Biggins advised me that it helps conception." She stuck up her knees, resting her feet on the bench, and he smoothed down her skirts.

"I just realized you don't have your hat." He caressed her hair lightly.

"I dinnae give a whit."

"Neither do I. That was…"

"I…" her eyelids fluttered.

"What is it, darling?"

"Thank ye for my seizure."

"Seizure?" he asked blankly.

"Ye know. Ye just… gave me a seizure."

He screwed his eyes shut and tried not to laugh.

"Eddie!"

"You read medical books. All the time."

"Nobody will lend me any about lovemaking, only reproduction."

"Oh, for Pete's sake. I will buy some."

"Really?"

Bella really was adorable. "It's called an orgasm." Eddie swooped her up in his arms and purred in her ear. "The Poilu call it _le petit mort_."

She blinked at him innocently. "What do thae British call it?"

He frowned and shook his head. "I'm not sure they call it anything. I'm not even sure they do it."

"And the Canadians?"

"Coming."

"That sounds verra sordid."

He bit back a smile. "What would you call it, darling?"

"More-ish."

Eddie's forehead crinkled up. "Moorish?"

"Yes, I want a lot more. More-ish."

He did laugh then, and bent to ravish her mouth. "Tomorrow, my little woman, you can have as _many little deaths as you want_."

"Whoa!" a man exclaimed as he came around the hedge. "Sorry, Mace!"

Eddie felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Oops."

Jasper started to chuckle.

"Hell," Bella breathed, sending Eddie into fits of laughter again. She rolled onto her side, sat up carefully and attempted to straighten her hair. "Hello, Jasper."

"Mrs. Masen."

"Ye may as well call me Bella as ye know me more intimately than mae own family."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Jazz, you sure have a knack for turning up at certain times," Eddie scolded.

Jasper hobbled closer. "Mace?" He cleared his throat and leaned down. "You have a little, uh, you know, _stuff_ on your…"

Eddie pulled Bella's skirt over his legs. "Thank you!" he said loudly.

"Sorry to interrupt. Cap and I just wanted to know what the doctors said."

"Yeah, Bella and I will catch up with you at tea, all right?"

He wasn't looking forward to the conversation.

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

i At the beginning of the Edwardian Era (technically 1890-1915), new methods were discovered to cut and style platinum and diamonds. This led to a craze for those two materials. Women wore a lot of white, and diamonds and platinum were showcased on the plain colour palette. As well, filigree became popular as platinum was strong enough to support delicate work. Most platinum was still backed with 10 Karat gold before 1910, helping to date that jewelry. These pieces are so strong that they have endured generations of wear and are quite valuable today.

ii Edwardian jewelry became less gaudy and more monochromatic. They particularly liked white gold or platinum with white, clear, black or grey stones.

iii My grandmother used to say, "Watch your knob." We wicked grandchildren all tried to get her to say it as often as possible. She actually had a sign on the basement staircase's low ceiling that said _watch yer knob_. There are pictures of it somewhere. Back in those days, a **knob** was a head, not a dick.

iv When land in France was stripped to mud, it was noticed that after a battlefield was abandoned, poppies were the first thing to grow back. A hundred years later, if you go to see the trenches, you'll find the occasional clump of poppies springing up. The poppy was eventually adopted universally as a symbol of renewal, with thanks for the sacrifice of those who fell. By 1917, it was officially paired with the motto, "Je me souviens." _I remember_.

v The Newfoundland Highlanders Cadet Corps (1907) used a **caribou** as their emblem. On October 2, 1915, members of the St. John Ambulance sold caribou badges in St. John's in order to have every person "wearing the emblem of the 1st Newfoundland Regiment in honour of our boys who have had their first baptism of fire in the Dardanelles." Some of the battlefields where the Newfoundland Regiment fought became the "Trail of the Caribou." In the 1920s, five monuments were erected along the Trail of Caribou in Europe: Beaumont-Hamel, Gueudecourt, Monchy-le-Preux, and Masnières in France, as well as Courtrai in Belgium. The caribou stands facing the enemy line with its head thrown back in defiance. A replica of the monument also stands in Bowring Park in St. John's.

︻┳═一

 **A/N: You're getting this instalment a bit early but don't get too excited because next week's may be late. I'll be away and I may not get it posted by Wednesday, but don't worry, I'll catch up as soon as I can.**

 **I am running a one hour author event on Facebook Wednesday, June 29** **th** **at 9PM EST. You have to join the RRR Blog group to attend. Just think of it as an online party for books. You'll get to read excerpts from new books, meet my author friends Sherri Hayes, Lissa Bryan and Sydney Logan, and there will be prizes. Lissa will be making a big announcement so you'll want to be there if possible. Plus, I'm a bit nervous and need you to hold my hand.**

 **On July 5** **th** **, I'll be a participating author at Lindsey Gray's Fireworks event. I have to hold down the fort all by myself for a whole half hour. Gulp. I'll be fine. No, it'll be fun. Come hang out and have fun. Prizes, games and books. My kind of party. Hope I'll see you there.**


	19. Chapter 19

The Itch Chapter 19

︻┳═一

October 7, 1916

︻┳═一

Eddie and Bella sat opposite Jazz and Cap in the crowded canteen. Mutton stew had been served for tea and many of the men were complaining as they had been served far too much mutton in the army's soup kitchens.[i] Eddie thought wistfully of Mother Biggins's tender lamb stew. However, any dead sheep was a good sheep and he enjoyed taking his revenge upon the species that gave him difficulties.

"So," Jazz asked, "what did the doctors say?"

Eddie gently set down his spoon. "Well, I'm out of the army and the hospital but I guess you and Cap will still be seeing me on the regular."

"What, aren't they chucking you out, yet?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Jazz and Cap looked at each other apprehensively then stared at Eddie.

"I'll still be here twelve hours a day, six days a week."

Cap's forehead wrinkled and Jazz spoke for both of them. "Are they running out of beds or something?"

"No. Harris is chucking me out of bed and putting me to work."

Jasper leaned forward. "You're joshing."

"Nope."

"Harris gave you a job?" His voice was tight with excitement.

"He thinks the men with shell shock will relate to me."

"Better than him."

Cap snorted and extended his hand, and Eddie clasped it. "Congratulations."

"Thanks, Cap."

"When do you start?" Jazz asked quietly.

"Day after tomorrow. They're discharging me in the morning."

There was a moment of silence and Eddie was afraid Jazz and Cap were taking the news badly.

"Well," Jazz said, rattling his spoon against the dish. "At least we won't have to put up with your snoring anymore."

"I don't snore." Dared he make a joke? "That's Bella."

The lady in question squawked indignantly. "Oh, ye're in trouble now, mister!" But she gave his hand an affectionate squeeze because he made their mates laugh.

︻┳═一

October 8, 1916

︻┳═一

He shaved, bathed and dressed in his new white shirt and grey suit at dawn. His things were packed in a suitcase rather than his kit bag, which was still at the Bigginses. He was hoping to slip out without waking his roommates, but when he stooped to tie his boots his black cane tipped over and clattered upon the floor.

Eddie felt around for the stick without success. Jazz shuffled over, picked it up and handed it to him.

"Thanks."

"You should paint that a colour that's easy to see."

"That's a good idea."

"You about ready to go?"

"Yeah."

"Kid!" Cap called.

"Cap wants to hug you," Jazz said. Eddie manoeuvred himself around the bed and counted the steps to the furthest cot. He bent down and embraced Emmett.

"See you Monday morning, Cap."

"Bye, kiddo." Eddie started to straighten up but Em wouldn't let him. Rather, he kissed him on the forehead and patted his shoulder. "Don't worry."

"You had better get your strength back, sir. I will be watching to make sure you're improving. Bella and I will have you and Jasper come to us for Christmas but only if you can walk."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Eddie picked up his things. Hale followed him downstairs and sat with him on one of the chesterfields in the lobby. Eddie offered him a fag and took one himself. He took out his lighter and lit it, then held the light out for Jasper.

"I want you to watch Cap for me, Jazz." He sucked smoke into his lungs and expelled it slowly.

"I will. He's gonna have to eat my table scraps without you here to polish them off."

"He isn't out of the woods yet."

"I know." Jasper didn't say anything for a bit, then, he asked, "Do you think Mother Biggins will come to see us?"

"Yes, definitely."

"You know what today is, back home?" He picked up an ashtray off the table and flicked his ash into it.

"What?"

"Thanksgiving." He held out the ashtray to Eddie. "Today's the second Sunday in October. Thanksgiving in Canada."

"I never even thought about it." He hadn't celebrated the holiday in a few years.

"Well, I did. And I'm really thankful for meeting you again, Mace."

"Yeah, I'm glad, too."

The door swung open and Eddie heard a dog's claws click upon the floor. Private Barker invited himself onto Eddie's lap and Jasper laughed.

"Careful, boy!" Eddie tried to protect his person.

Bella whistled and the dog scrambled to the floor and sat smartly at her feet. His tail thumped upon the floor.

"Will you bring the dog to see us, sometimes?" Jazz asked.

"Sure." Eddie stood up and Jasper stood with him. "See you tomorrow, brother."

"Okay." Jasper's voice was husky. Eddie gave him a hug and a bracing pat.

Jasper didn't let go. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Jazz. I'll be here in the morning."

"Yeah, okay. Bye." He pulled away but didn't look up. "Bye, Bella."

"See ye tomorrow, Jasper."

"Yes, ma'am."

Eddie put on his peaked army cap while Bella attached Private Barker's lead. He walked with his cane extended, felt for the door and held it open for Bella. He took her arm as Dem had taught them, and she led him down the fourteen steps. At the bottom, she halted him.

"Eddie?"

"Yes?"

"Would ye mind visiting the garden before we go home?"

His lip tipped up. "Darling. Can't you wait until we get home?"

"Ach, I dinnae mean—" She stopped speaking abruptly. "Maybe it's a bad idea," she murmured.

"It's spitting rain. It's most certainly a bad idea."

"I haff… Never mind."

"What?"

"No, no, we'll go home."

He gave her what he hoped was a stern look. "Bella." When she didn't respond, he took her arm and tugged her toward the garden. After wiping their favourite bench with his hand, they sat down on the chilly, wet surface. "Now, spill."

Private Barker hid himself beneath Bella's skirt.

"I… haff something for ye. I had it yesterday but everything was sae overwhelming that I…"

"Is it the ring?"

"Yes, love. And I haff a confession."

"I'm listening."

"When I went to the jeweler's to make the commission, I left the bit of bone in his possession."

Eddie reflexively touched the brown bottle in his pocket. "What's in the bottle then?"

"I knew ye'd fret if it was nae with ye, so I put a wee upholstery tack in there."

A sharp rebuke flew to the tip of his tongue. Why would she do such a thing? Well, he hadn't exactly been behaving rationally. If he were honest, he knew Bella was right. He'd have fretted. Sighing, Eddie ducked his head. "I've been talking to a pin?"

"It doesnae matter if he's with ye or nae. Douglass heard ye."

Hopefully, he had accepted Eddie's apology and wasn't cursing him from hell. Eddie prayed he would find rest. Perhaps he should order a Mass for him. "So, he's… his remains are in the ring?"

"And it's soldered closed so he can neffer be lost."

"May I have it?"

Isobel placed the ring in his palm. "Do ye forgive me?"

"I understand why you did what you did. But it doesn't make me feel very manly."

"I'm sorry, love."

Eddie nodded, took the heavy ring between his thumb and index finger and held it up to his good eye. It was made of white gold and black enamel, with a thick, flat square top and beveled edges decorated with black poppies. Smoky stones were set in the top in the shape of a cross, and words were embossed in white around the band.

"Do ye like it?"

"It's perfect. What does it say?"

"Jeremy Douglass, Blue Puttees, July 1st, 1916."

"Thank you, Bella. I could not have chosen better for myself." He slid it onto the middle finger of his right hand and felt instantly better.

"Love?" Bella asked meekly.

"Hmm?"

"I hope ye willnae mind. I bought us each a memento. It is almost our anniversary."

Eddie had to admit he hadn't expected her to be interested in baubles. "You bought us anniversary jewelry?"

"Not exactly. I hope ye will nae be fashed with me."

"I am sure I won't." He waited expectantly while she took something small out of her reticule.

"I… thought, since ye may haff tae send Douglass tae his family, ye should haff a memento of yer men. And I wanted one, too." She grasped his hand and placed something in his palm. A black and gold band with a strip of shining white around the edges. "It says, 'July 1st, 1916, Beaumont-Hamel, in Mem. Blue Puttees'."

The magnitude of what Bella had given him stole his breath. "Oh, Bella." He put the band on the ring finger of his left hand and held it up to his face. She placed her right hand alongside his and he saw that her ring was an exact copy of his. "You are a marvel."

"Ye like them?"

"I love them. Such a wonderful idea. Thank you." He kissed the back of her hand and discovered that their rings touched.

"I'm sae pleased!"

"May we go home so I can show you how happy I am?"

"Yes, let's go!"

︻┳═一

True to her word, Bella _was_ determined to keep him in bed all day. And to that end, their mourning rings were carefully tucked up in an enamelled box on the mantle.

"I am _not_ using that!" Eddie crossed his arms mulishly. "There's a perfectly good WC right down the hall."

"Ye dinnae haff a problem with it in the hospital."

He tipped his head almost sideways to look into her eyes. "I wasn't about to parade around naked in the hospital."

Bella beamed at him. "Precisely!"

" _There_ , I was not _allowed_ to wear clothes."

"I forbade you to wear anything today. At least until tea. And you agreed."

"I never used it in front of anyone. We aren't in a trench!"

Even with his terrible eyesight, Eddie knew he'd caught her interest. "Did ye haff tae relieve yerself in front of others at the front, then?"

"Bella."

"Eddie," she sang.

"Wooman. Ye're fashing me!"

She snaked her arms around his neck and sampled the skin beneath his ear. His eyes rolled back in his head a little. If he didn't need to—

"Isobel. If you don't let me go, I'm going to have an accident right here on Mother Biggins's lovely carpet."

"I dinnae want ye tae leave the room." Was she getting weepy? "If ye do, someone will notice ye and spoil our day alone."

Ah, that explained it. Eddie stroked her cheek, stole the urinal from her and set it down. "Let me go, darling, and in ten minutes, you can join me in the tub."

"The tub?" Excellent. She sounded cheerful again. Eddie congratulated himself on his persuasive power. He ran his hands over her hips.

"Yes. Everyone's at work right now, eh? So I think we can lock ourselves in for a bit."

Bella did a little hop and hurried to retrieve his cotton robe from wherever she'd hidden it the night before.

"Where was it?" he mock-growled as he shrugged into it.

"I'll neffer tell."

"You're asking for a spanking, trouble."

"Just dinnae forget the rule of thumb, all right?"[ii]

"Hmm… I'll have to measure my cane." But it was she who swatted him on the backside as he stepped out into the hallway.

A few minutes later, he sank into hot water up to his neck. The door opened on greased hinges and Bella slipped inside.

"That is you, isn't it?"

"Silly." She locked the door and dropped her dressing gown to the floor, setting their towels near the tub.

"Check if it's too hot for you."

Bella stuck her fingers in. "It's pretty hot." She poured in scented bath salts that somehow reminded Eddie of Egypt.

"Do you want me to add cold?" he asked.

"No. I'll be all right in a minute."

Instead, Eddie let down a bit of water and turned on the tap.

"It is fine, love," Bella insisted.

"Let me protect you, Bella."

When the scald was taken off the water, Bella turned off the tap. Eddie reached for her hands and braced her as she got in. She slipped her legs over his hips and rested her arms on his thighs.

"Ah, that's lovely."

"Yes." He circled his fingertips over her knees. "I love the heat."

"As well ye should."

He hoped he wasn't being too needy. "Can I wash your hair?"

Bella groaned. "Not this time. I'd never haff it dry in time for tea. But I would love that."

"You would?"

"Yes."

"Can I wash the rest of you?"

"Yes, please." Bella passed him her violet beauty soap and a washrag, and Eddie soaped her from head to toe. He paid particular attention to areas touched by nobody but him—at least since infancy. It was a toss-up as to which of them was enjoying it more. At last, with the washrag, he trickled hot water over her skin.

Bella began to explore him in return but he found he was too drowsy to rise to the occasion. He rested his head on the rim of the bath and let his eyes drift closed while Bella washed him all over.

"Do ye want tae get out?"

"Hmm?"

"Ye're falling asleep."

"No, not yet. Put your head on my chest."

Carefully, she shifted toward him and lay down upon him. He wrapped his arms and legs around her and matched her breaths. They rested there until the water cooled, then, patted each other dry and put on their robes. An afternoon nap seemed like just the ticket.

Eddie took Bella's hand and led her back to their room. He opened the door for her. A male voice boomed from within, scaring the shit out of them both. Eddie pushed Bella behind him and hunkered down.

"Anthony Edward Masen! What in the name of Heaven is the meaning of this?"

A woman burst into tears.

Eddie straightened up and gave Bella a reassuring pat but she continued to clutch at his robe.

"Hello, Da."

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

* * *

[i] My grandfather refused to eat even the most tender roasted lamb. Mutton is the meat of a mature sheep and it's very tough. Soldiers were served a lot of it as it was easy to come by. Poppa used to turn up his nose and grumble, "Mutton!" and that was the end of that.

[ii] **The Rule of Thumb** has been misidentified as an ancient English law that allowed a man to beat his wife with any switch or cane thinner than his thumb. This is actually a very old urban legend that wife beaters once used to defend themselves in court. The misuse persists despite the Oxford English Dictionary definition: "A method or procedure derived entirely from practice or experience, without any basis in scientific knowledge; a roughly practical method." The OED dates the phrase's first reference to 1692.

The expression was actually coined to describe a method by which brewers once tested the temperature of a batch of beer: they dipped a thumb in the brew.

︻┳═一

Sorry I missed a week, guys. I have bronchitis but I'm on the mend. See you next Wednesday. That will be a nice, long chapter. xoox


	20. Chapter 20

︻┳═一

October 8, 1916

︻┳═一

The ensuing silence was uncomfortable. Eddie cleared his throat.

"Mum, Da, we weren't expecting you."

"Obviously," Anthony Masen Sr. snapped.

"Oh, Junie," his mum said, but she didn't approach him.

"How did you get in?"

"The door downstairs was open so we let ourselves up." So Eddie wouldn't need to have a word with Mother Biggins about letting people upstairs to visit unannounced. His father had snuck into the house in order to get the advantage. Typical.

"Is this how ya comport yourself now, young man?" he demanded, as though he had a right.

Bella, who was clutching the back of Eddie's robe, placed her forehead on his back. Eddie clenched his jaw, feeling his face redden. Private Barker gave out a protective growl and yap from his basket.

"This is my home, sir, and I am the master of it." Eddie neglected to add that he and Bella were newlyweds, not children, and might comport themselves however they wished.

"This? A home? Hah! Our housekeeper's quarters are more handsome than this. This is not where ya belong, lad. Get dressed. We're leavin'."

Eddie's temper boiled over. He stepped forward and Bella tried to hold him back. He turned, took her hands, gave them a squeeze, and gently nudged her away. Then, he swaggered over until he was nose-to-nose with his da.

"No."

Anthony tensed. "Because y'are married? Y'are only seventeen. What makes ya tink I'd endorse yar marriage?"

"What makes you think your endorsement counts?"

"Junie…" He sounded stricken.

Eddie stepped back and nodded curtly. "You have not met my wife. And right now, you have her at a disadvantage. Please leave us for a short time—"

"No!" his mother cried. "You will run away again!"

Eddie couldn't help but smile. "In my dressing gown?"

"I would not put it past you!" She put her hand on his father's arm.

"That's not a dressin' gown! Tis not fit for a Mufti," Anthony huffed.

"It's hospital issue."

"Ya ran away from home and have spent the last three years gettin' yarself blown up! Y'are not competent to—"

"I've an excellent job at the hospital."

"C'mere, ya don't need a job!" Anthony hissed. "Ya needn't work at all! And I expect this young woman was aware of that when—"

"I beg yer pardon?" Bella huffed as Eddie's mother gasped, "Tony!"

Eddie pointed at the exit. "If you're going to attack my wife, sir, there is the door!"

"Junie!" he boomed.

"I will not stand for it. Any injury to Isobel is an affront to me. I refuse to be insulted in my own home."

To his shock, his father released a small sob. That was incomprehensible. Anthony Masen was not a sensitive man. Eddie placed his hands on Anthony's trembling face and traced its shape. There were heavy lines on his cheeks and pouches beneath his eyes. His beard and moustache were the same but his shoulders were lower than Eddie's. He had grown old.

Eddie took his father in his arms. "I'm sorry for leaving you, Da."

Eddie's mother began to cry in earnest. His father hugged him back, his breaths uneven. "Why, Junie? Why? Was it the music?"

He gnawed his lip. "The music was the symptom, not the disease."

"The mine."

"Yes."

"Were ya not proud of me? Why do ya not want my legacy?"

"Oh, Da. I have always been fiercely proud of you. But I cannot abide the mine."

"Why not?"

Eddie swallowed hard, pushed away the clawing memory of a partial tunnel collapse at Beaumont-Hamel, and straightened himself. "Do you remember the last argument before I ran away?"

"Over yar wishes for university. I do."

"You ordered me to begin working in the mine twelve hours a day."

"I do so myself, and the men love me for it."

"Da." Eddie steeled himself. "I cannot bear enclosed spaces. It's a phobia. It's incurable."

"Y'are claustrophobic?"

"I am. When you told me I must descend into the tunnel daily, I ran from your study because… I wet myself."

"Junie," he murmured, taking Eddie's face in his hands. "Why didn't ya tell me ya were afraid?"

Eddie swallowed tears. "I couldn't stand for you to shout at me. I was ashamed of my weakness."

Anthony gave Eddie a small pat. "I understan'."

"You do?"

"I do, to be sure. Ya were hardly more than a child. T'ings will be different now, ya'll see."

Eddie's momentary urge to panic was supplanted by rage. He gathered himself together. His father had a simplistic world view. If one was afraid, one could overcome it. He couldn't possibly understand that Eddie's childish, ungrounded fear had—ironically— metamorphosed into the genuine experience of being buried alive. How could he relate to such a thing, sitting at home with fine food and servants? Their lives were totally different and Eddie shouldn't fault his da for that. He resolved to be patient. "No, sir, I still hate being closed in. I don't even like rooms with closed windows."

"Fine! I won't make ya go down in the mine anymore, but I'm after bringing ya home."

"I can't go."

"Please, Junie," Eddie's mum whimpered. "It's not the same at home without you."

"I'm sorry, Mum. My life is here."

"There are no young men left in St. John!"

"All the more reason for me to remain where I am happy."

Eddie's mum stepped over to Bella. Eddie thought he could see her touch Bella's cheek. "You're beautiful."

"Thank ye, ma'am."

"Right and of course she's beautiful! What else has she to offer?" Anthony spat.

"Get out." Eddie boiled red.

"Junie…" His mum touched his shoulder.

"Out of my house!"

"Don't talk to me dat way. I'm your father."

"And I'm a man."

"Y'are a child!"

Eddie bit his tongue and prayed for the right words to say. There were so many feelings ricocheting around inside him that he couldn't possibly sort them all. But his experience with Dildo had taught him that words uttered could not be unsaid. Eddie crossed his arms again. "I began earning my own way in Canada in 1912. I joined the Canadian Army in 1914 and since then, I've been leading men all over Europe. It's true that I've seen a few hospitals. I've seen horrors that would curl your hair, Da. But not once has anyone –from sapper to colonel— ever called me a child or accused my wife of being a money grubber. Except you."

"Do ya blame me?"

"Yes." The silence was deafening. Eddie cocked his head to the side. "My wife is a lady of means. I had a hard time convincing her to marry me."

"Then why work in a hospital?" Anthony asked Bella.

"I wanted tae be useful. I didnae have expectations of marriage."

"Why not?"

Eddie held up his hand. "That's not your business."

"Did ya know yar wife is twenty? Perhaps she didn't have prospects because she is barren!"

Eddie's jaw dropped, then, snapped shut. He balled his hands into fists so he wouldn't throttle his father. "I assure you she is not. Don't try to annul the marriage, either."

"Ya are after comin' home to St. John!"

"Never."

"I demand it!"

"If you deny me my freedom, I will take my family away somewhere you will never find us."

"Family?" his mum gasped.

"Once I turn eighteen, you'll have no authority over me anyway, so why force me to break ties and ruin your chances of being grandparents?"

"I could take ya into custody now." Ah, now, he was bluffing. "It would be for yar own good."

Eddie was calling that bluff. "Do you really think you could hold me?"

"Y'are blind!"

Eddie smiled darkly and purposefully mimicked his father's accent. "Wouldn't ya loike ta troi?"

"Eddie," Bella moaned.

"C'mere, have a go," Eddie invited him mildly.

"I'm not about to hurt ya!"

Eddie snorted. "I dare ya, old man."

"Faith, y'are askin' for trouble!"

"I'm blind, not crippled. Just try and hold me, Da."

Anthony Masen latched onto Eddie's wrist and tried to pull him forward. Eddie took hold of his father's wrist, stepped into the hold and applied pressure. He was free before anyone could tell what he'd done. He lifted a brow and smirked.

"How'd ya do that?" his father asked incredulously.

"One more time, Da."

"Just one." He threw both his arms around Eddie's neck and Eddie brought his hands up between and broke the hold easily. Somehow, the situation became entertaining. Eddie never used to be able to best his da. Both men started to laugh.

"I can't believe you're outmanoeuvrin' me while wearin' nothin' but a cotton robe!" Anthony cackled, hugging Eddie around the middle.

"Imagine what I'd do if I had my trousers on."

"Oh, y'are just like yar old man."

Eddie helped his father to smooth down his jacket and hair. "Good lord, Da, you're all rumpled." He, himself, barely had a hair out of place. His robe remained securely tied.

"I didn't expect ya to defy me. Ya used to love peace more than gettin' your own way."

Eddie grinned broadly. "Guess what? I _got_ my own way and I shall continue to get my own way."

Anthony sighed. "I used to think ya were like your mam. Evidently, y'are just like me. Poor lad."

"So far, it hasn't done me any harm."

"Hah. Young lady?"

"Yes?" Bella answered cautiously.

"Do ya love my son?"

"I do."

"God help ya, ma'am. He's a handful."

"I can manage him."

"So I see." He stepped closer to Bella. "Will ya forgive my incivility, ma'am? I've been worried sick about Junie but that's no reason for me to be rude to ya."

"That depends."

"On?"

"Do ye and mae husband intend tae solve every disagreement by brawling?"

It was hardly a brawl. It was only a playful tussle, and that was overstating it. Still, it rather pleased Eddie that Bella hadn't seen enough of fighting to find it unworthy of concern. A woman ought to be ignorant of such things.

"I only wanted to know if the lad could stand up for himself," Da protested.

"I call bull, sir," Bella said. Eddie was so surprised he almost laughed.

"Ya do, do ya? Well…" Eddie could tell his da was amused. "I must admit that trying him out was rather fun."

"We wouldnae stand for that nonsense in the army. There'll be nae mair of it in mae house."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Eddie?" she asked gravely. He gave himself a shake.

"Oh. Yes, ma'am. No more brawling in the house, ma'am."

"I am surprised our landlady, Mother Biggins didnae come up here."

"Sorry, ma'am," Anthony said. "May we start over?"

"I suppose."

"Wonderful!" Eddie's father slowly gripped his hand and held it. "Junie, we've missed ya terribly. How are ya, lad?"

"I'm well, Da. I'm happy here."

"And who might this be, then?"

"Senior Nurse Isobel Maire Masen. My darling wife."

"Hello, Isobel."

"Sir."

"How did ya meet our Junie, then?"

"Bella nursed me in Ypres," Eddie said. "We became attached and before I was packed off to the Dardanelles, I convinced her to marry me."

"When was that?" Eddie's mum asked.

"We married on October 14th of 1915," Bella said.

Elizabeth's skirts swished as she turned to Eddie. "That's almost a year."

"Yes."

"Do you have a baby?"

He smiled, the possibilities warming his heart. "Not yet."

Elizabeth took Bella's hands. "Are you with child?"

"Erm… I cannae say for certain. It is," she cleared her throat, "verra early yet."

"Ohhh my dear girl! How wonderful! Isn't it wonderful, Tony?"

Anthony cleared his throat. "Don't get carried away, darlin'. Ya know how these things go."

"God has blessed us all and I have faith that all will be well with Bella. I am so glad, Junie."

"Thank you, Mum."

Anthony sighed. "We have much to discuss. We'll all go to a restaurant tonight. What is the best one around here?"

Bella spoke up softly. "I'm sorry, but we cannae. I planned a surprise for Eddie."

Eddie turned hopefully toward his wife. "What surprise?"

"Well, I may as well tell ye, as this is such an important day."

"I love your surprises," Eddie said. "What is planned for this evening?"

"I paid Mother Biggins to prepare us a formal Thanksgiving dinner. And we have guests coming. Tea will be at eight o'clock in the Biggins' dining room. I am sure…" she paused, "that Mr. and Mrs. Masen would be welcome to join us. Knowing Mother Biggins, there will be a feast."

"How," Elizabeth Masen said breathily, "how very kind of you."

"You are most welcome."

"What time shall we come back for tea?"

Eddie deferred to his wife. "Bella?"

"Can ye come at nineteen-hundred?"

"We shall be here."

Elizabeth's long gown rustled as she turned back to Eddie. "Junie, will you not kiss me before we go?"

Although he felt rather awkward in his state of undress, he obligingly opened his arms. "I'm glad you came, Mum. I've missed you." He stooped to kiss her on the cheek and she patted his cheek. Hesitantly, he lifted his hands and let them fall, then lifted them again. Although he didn't want to discover just how much his mother had aged, he was no longer quite certain what she had looked like when he left home. Her face didn't feel wrinkled like his father's, but even with his feeble eyesight he could tell that her auburn hair had faded substantially.

"Still freckled, I see," he teased.

"They are much paler now than they used to be. Can you see well enough to know that?" she asked eagerly and he was sorry he'd joshed with her.

"No, Mum. I can't see you that clearly. I'm speaking from memory."

"Is your vision really that bad?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And you won't come home with us? You can bring Isobel."

"No, I'm sorry. My life is here."

Pressing her handkerchief to her mouth with a nod, she reached for the doorknob and exited the room. Eddie's father picked up his hat and nodded.

"We will sort this out, Junie."

"Thank you, Da."

"See ya at seven."

Anthony Masen put on his hat and departed, and Eddie shut the door and locked it. He whispered, "Remind me to lock the door from now on when we step out."

Bella hadn't moved from her place at his left. He wrapped her in his embrace. "Are you all right, darling?"

"That was… not what I was expecting."

"He knows now that I don't need him to manage me. Trust me, he'll be all right with us now."

"When ye opened the door and he shouted at ye, it took a year off my life, but at least we were wearing robes this time."

Eddie smirked wickedly. "Well, if Da had arrived a bit later and poked his nose in without knocking, it would at least have confirmed the validity of our marriage."

"Ye're so bad." Nonetheless, Bella tipped her head up so he could nuzzle her throat.

"Mmm… Do we have time for a lie down before our guests come?"

"I had best inform Mother Biggins that there will be two more for tea." Her tone was flat.

"Aren't you going to get dressed first?"

"Papa Biggins isnae home yet so I think I'll just pop down."

"All right. Bella?"

"Yes?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Yer parents think there's a bairn coming."

"I don't see the problem. If there isn't one on the way, there will be soon."

"These things take time."

"But won't it be fun trying?" He coaxed Bella with another kiss and had to remind her later to tell Mother Biggins they had two more guests coming.

︻┳═一

Isobel's large alarm clock clattered raucously on Eddie's nightstand, startling her awake. "Eddie, get the alarm."

"Mmm… Five more minutes."

"It's seventeen hundred. We maun get up. I dinnae wish tae resemble a fishwife when our guests arrive."

"You could never look like a fishwife." He yawned, stretched languidly and pushed in the button on the clock. "Although, if you let me have my way with you again, perhaps you could smell like one."

"You devil!" Isobel tickled him fiercely and he fell out of bed, cackling and taking the quilt with him. When he didn't reappear, Isobel crawled across the bed and peeked over.

Still laughing, he was trying to fight his way clear of the bedding. "A little help?"

Isobel pursed her lips. "No, I think it's better if ye're occupied while I get dressed."

"You're no fun."

"That's what all the boys used tae tell me."

"I should hope so."

Isobel plucked clean linen out of the door chest and slipped it on. Then she perused her small supply of clothes. Her brow wrinkled. Eddie walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around and kissed her on the shoulder.

"I dinnae ken what to wear."

"Wear your lace dress."

"Mae mammy and auntie would be scandalized if they saw me in it. Whatever would yer parents think of me?"

"They'll think you're fashionable." He kissed his way up to her ear. "And altogether lovely."

"Are ye certain?"

"My mother used to shop in Paris. Trust me."

"If ye say so." She rolled on her stockings, hooked them into her garters and put on her pumps.

"I do." Eddie opened his own drawer and extracted a short, silk union suit.[i] He stepped into it and shrugged into the short sleeves, then began to fumble with the bottommost buttons. He sighed.

"What is it, love?" Isobel picked up her button hook and began to do up her busk.

"These buttons are ridiculously small."

"Do ye want mae help?" She held out the hook.

"Boy, do I ever." He leaned over to slip her another kiss. "But then, we'll be late for your party."

"Why?"

"Do you want my privates standing at attention for you all evening?"

"Erm, that probably wouldnae be for the best."

"Then, my darling, I must see to my own buttons."

Isobel flipped her blush petticoat over her head and tied it at the back, then added the matching chemise.

"That really is a wonderful colour," Eddie said as he put on his garters and clipped in his stockings.[ii]

"I need to buy a petticoat and chemise that will work for evenings."

His hand-me-down white shirt rustled as he donned it. "And clothing for colder weather."

"Eventually."

"Why wait? We can afford it."

"If we get a bairn, I may need different garments by Christmas."

"Oh." He buttoned his trews and pulled up his suspenders. "What kind of garments?"

Isobel winced. "Well, I dinnae really ken. Nobody ever expected me to get married so they didn't tell me anything."

Eddie blinked. "I suppose we don't need to know just yet."

"I suppose not."

"Okay, I just need to put on my slippers and then we can go down."

"Ye'll have to wait while –Oh, I cannae do anything with mae hair." She tried to smooth it into place but the humidity from the bath had made it frizzy.

"Just braid it, then." Eddie appeared supremely unconcerned. Men!

"But it won't—"

"Hey." He reached over and took her face in his hands. "You're my beauty. Don't fret about what anyone thinks of you. I love you just as you are."

Tears pricked Isobel's eyes. "I love ye, too. Just as ye are."

"Braid it, darling. And promise me that you won't pretend to be someone you're not. My parents are going to love you."

"But your da—"

"Will respect us, if he wants me in his life."

Isobel braided her hair into two plaits and tucked them up with pins. "That's the best I can do."

Eddie placed her hand in the crook of his arm. "Shall we go down?"

"Yes. Come on, P.B." Isobel held up her head and snapped her fingers. Eddie whisked the door open and escorted her downstairs. Private Barker remained at the top until they'd reached the foyer. Then Eddie pointed at the dog and waved his arm toward the landing. Private Barker scampered down to join them, tongue lolling, his nails clicking on the stairs.

They knocked on the Biggins's door and heard their landlady toddle up.

"Hello, my dears! Come in! Come in!" Mother Biggins tugged at their hands. Private Barker scooted past her and headed straight for the kitchen. "It's good to have you home, Eddie. The goose is coming along nicely. Bella, you can help me peel the potatoes and carrots, and Eddie, perhaps you can shell the peas."

"Of course. Thank you for having us, Mother." Eddie sat down on the bench at the butcher's block kitchen table, listening to Bella murmur in response to Mother Biggins's cheerful chatter. Evidently, Bella didn't know her way around a kitchen and Mother Biggins was going to remedy that. Private Barker lay down on Eddie's feet. Eddie pinched open pea pods from a wooden bushel basket and collected them into a delicate china bowl. The kitchen was warm and homey and the goose smelled wonderful. He nibbled on a few pea pods to tide him over. They were beautifully sweet and crunchy.

He was almost finished shelling the peas when the front bell jingled.

"Oh!" Bella set down the peeler and hurried to take his hand. "That will be the rest of your surprise."

Eddie carefully set the bowl of peas on the table. "Lead on." Bella practically dragged him to the front door and he opened it. There were… how many men?

"Hello, mate!"

"Dem! And who…" Eddie narrowed his eyes. "Jazz?"

"Hey, Mace." He sounded so happy.

Felix was coming up the walk with Cap, in his wheelchair. "Surprise!" Cap said mildly. Felix plucked him out of his chair and carried him up the steps.

"Hello, Eddie. Happy Thanksgiving!"

"Happy Thanksgiving, Felix!" Eddie moved aside so his friends could get in. "What a fantastic surprise. You never let on this morning, Jazz."

"It was as much a surprise to us as it is to you," Jasper said.

"Bella, however did you arrange this?" Eddie asked.

"Dr. Harris knows about Thanksgiving, of course, so I asked that Emmett and Jasper be allowed to come home overnight. We'll take them back to the hospital with us in the morning. Jasper, ye'd best bring in Emmett's chair before somebody steals it."

"Yes, ma'am." They all hung up their caps on the stand behind the door.

"Where are we going then?" Felix asked. "This blighter's heavy."

Cap laughed wheezily.

"Through here!" Bella waved everyone toward the parlour. "Here, Felix, put Em on the settee." Mother Biggins entered through the back with her arms stretched wide.

"There are my boys!" She hurried to squash Emmett in her ample bosom.

"Mumma."

"How are you, pet?"

"O-kay-o."

"You look better."

"Yeah."

"And Jasper. How are you, my dear?" To Eddie's surprise, she grabbed Jazz by the ears and placed a loud kiss on his forehead. _Mwah_!

"I'm feeling good today, Mother. Thank you for inviting us."

"Glad to have you. And Eddie and Bella's other friends. Aren't you a tall drink of water!"

Had Eddie not been grinning already, he'd have started when he saw Mother Biggins's blurry form crane its neck to have a look at Felix, who was easily twice as tall as she.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm Felix Jones."

"How'd you meet our Eddie?"

"I'm an orderly at Number Six Hospital. And this is my big brother, Dem." Eddie would have been surprised if Dem was any taller than Mother Biggins. He repressed a snort. "He's a piano tuner," Felix boasted.

"Ooh, I shall need you back another day."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Dem," Bella said, "would you care to see the piano? It's quite a nice one."

"I would, yes, if Mrs. Biggins doesn't object."

"Not at all," she said. "Give us some music."

Dem played some Hanons to warm up. "Oh, this is lovely, this is. A nice old Owl-eyed Smith.[iii] How old is it?"

"I don't know," Mother Biggins said. "My papa had it."

Dem played a couple of trills and then set up a marching base. Eddie unconsciously leaned forward. "What is that?" The music was jaunty and quick.

"It's the _Top Liner Rag_ by Joseph Lamb." And Dem didn't miss a note.

"He wrote _Nightingale Rag_ last year," Eddie said.

"Yes."

Eddie sat in a chair next to the piano and strained to see Dem's hands. Would Dem teach him how to play it? Eddie quashed his urge to ask and concentrated on listening to the music instead. When Dem finished the piece, everyone clapped for him and asked for another and another. Eddie enjoyed the music immensely.

Dem turned on his stool. "How about you give us a song now, Eddie?"

"Only if Bella will sing while I play."

"Oh, Eddie," she groaned, twisting her white apron. "I cannae…"

"Oh, come on, Bella," Jazz pleaded. "You're amongst friends."

"Yeah," Cap said.

"Well…" she stood at the bass end of the piano while Eddie took the stool. "Just one, and then I maun get back to the kitchen."

"Excellent." Eddie stretched his fingers. "What would you like?"

" _St. Louis Blues_ by Handy."

"Oh, yeah!" Eddie purred. He set Bella up with the intro and when she began to sing it, their audience was astounded. She could work the melody as well as anyone from Tin Pan Alley. Eddie actually had a bit of a hard time keeping up with her. When the last notes were struck, everyone was silent for a moment and then they rushed to congratulate her on her brilliance.

"You two should be on the stage!" Dem declared.

"Please, just dinnae tell mae new mama-in-law that," she said, and Eddie knew she was rolling her eyes.

"Eddie," Dem asked, "can you play the _Maple Leaf_?"

"Joplin!" Bella exclaimed. "He can! He's marvelous."

Eddie made a show of stretching. "I may be a tad rusty." He played it perfectly, of course.

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

* * *

[i] **Union suits** were worn as undergarments by men from 1800 to 1928 with little variation. The winter ones were made of wool, with long legs and long sleeves, and trapdoors in the back. Here, we call them longjohns. In warm weather, men wore short union suits (still with access panels in the back) made of gauze or silk. In the late 1920s they were also made of rayon. The summer suits had either short sleeves or they were sleeveless. They buttoned all the way from the inner leg up to the collarbone. All summer union suits were white. Around 1928, boxer shorts with separate undershirts were invented. They were still white. Boxers became popular in North America, but union suits continued to be preferred in Britain.

[ii] Men's socks were called stockings. They were generally made of wool or silk. Since there was no elastic, they were held up with garters that sat just below the knee. In Edwardian times, men's garters were generally black but in the 1920s it became fashionable to wear patterned suspenders with garters to match.

[iii] Owl Eyes were pianos decorated with a pair of eyelike circles on the panel above the keyboard. Smith was an English piano making company. The owners built pianos in their barn

︻┳═一

 **A/N: I'm still down with bronchitis. Thanks for your patience and well-wishes. Both are much appreciated.**

 **Janiriki informs me that mutton is better to eat than rat. I must take your word for it, J. Although I have heard tell that rat is somewhat of a delicacy in parts of the world. Better to eat the rat than have the rat eat you!**

 **(Apologies to my friends with pet rats. Xx)**

.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21:

︻┳═一

"My dears?" Mother Biggins wiped her hands on her long apron. "I wonder if my… my boys could come along with me for a minute. Jasper, Emmett and Eddie."

Eddie and Jazz stood. "Of course, Mother Biggins," Eddie said. Jazz lifted Cap and the three men followed Mother Biggins through the door at the back of the room. The next room was a comfortable gentleman's study that smelled of Papa Biggins's cherry pipe tobacco. They left it and followed her down the hallway toward the back of the house. The next door was shut. Mother Biggins passed it and stopped at the following door. She was wringing her hands so fiercely that her apron was creased. She took a brass key out of her pocket and placed it in Eddie's hand.

"Mr. Biggins and I had a talk and we have decided… that it is no good keeping our boy's things in a cupboard to molder when others could make use of them. We have taken everything of sentimental value from this room and wish for the three of you to take what you will." She sounded weepy. "He was a good boy. I will say that we spoiled him, but nicely, with affection. He had such lovely things. It would please Papa and me greatly, as I know it would Bernard, himself, to know someone was enjoying them."

"Oh, Mother, are you certain?" Eddie asked.

"Yes, I will enjoy seeing the three of you use Bernard's things. But I don't want to watch you sort them out. Whatever you cannot use we shall give away. And then," she paused. "The room will be free for Jasper and Emmett once they get out of the hospital."

"You want us to come and live with you?" Jazz asked slowly.

"We do."

"But we could be anybody," Jazz protested.

Mother Biggins patted his face. "You're not just anyone, you're our Eddie's brothers." Turning away, she hurried toward the back of the house, where heat was radiating from the kitchen, leaving behind three silent men.

"Well, fancy that," Eddie said.

Cap exhaled loudly. "Open it, Mace."

"Yes, sir." Eddie put the key in the lock and turned it, expecting the door to creak open. However, it was well-oiled. The scent of beeswax and lemons welcomed him and his mates inside. Unlike the rest of the house, which was very Victorian, Bernard's large room was modern, with expensive yellow wallpaper. The gas lamps had been lit for evening, but the small window at the back of the house would admit a lot of afternoon light. A large walnut fireplace with a metal firebox and a pinkish-red tile hearth dominated the side wall, and woven mats were scattered on the dark floor. A narrow bed with wood to match the fireplace stood opposite, and another, dismantled bed was propped against it. A large pile of folded bedding and pillows was piled nearby.

Jazz set Cap down on a khaki divan. Then, he sat beside, in one of the plump, matching club chairs that begged for someone to curl up in them with a good book.

"Mother Biggins," Eddie said, "is an angel." He made his way carefully to the sitting area and helped himself to a seat in the pink velvet rocking chair, groaning as he sank into the comfortable cushions. Jasper sniffled, then put his head in his hands and wept.

After a few awkward moments, Cap crawled down the divan, pulled Jasper's hand from his face and gripped it. Eddie left the chair, took a seat next to Jasper and grasped hold of his other hand.

"Why couldn't my own people love me?"

Eddie couldn't help feeling that this was the first test of his new position. He was deathly afraid to say the wrong thing. "People fear what they don't know. Not very many civilians understand what war is really like. Sometimes things shock them so badly that they just don't know how to deal with it. When they're uncomfortable they don't know what to do and sometimes they choose to do things that are hurtful. Maybe someday your folks will come around, but until then you have us."

"Even if they do come around, I don't know how I'd let them back. They let me down when I needed them most."

Cap nudged his shoulder. "Don't cut off your beak to spite your face."

Even Eddie could see Jazz's mouth drop open. "What face?"

The three men laughed longer and louder than was probably warranted, but Eddie felt better afterward.

"Jazz, will you go and ask Felix and Dem to join us?"

"Yes, sir." He returned shortly with the brothers and Felix ushered Dem to the chairs.

"Smells lovely in here," Dem said, his cane resting between his knees.

"It's a charming room," Eddie agreed. "Mother Biggins wants Jazz and Cap to live here once they're out of the hospital."

"She's a generous sort, isn't she?" Felix remarked.

"I still don't know what I did to deserve her," Jazz murmured.

"Well," Dem said, "God likes to give His children good things. None of us really deserve them, but He gives them anyway."

Jasper was quiet for a minute. "Yeah."

"Felix, would you mind helping us put together the beds?" Eddie asked.

"Not at all." With his help, Eddie and Jazz managed to get the frame of the second bed assembled and secured in no time.

"Where are you from, then?" Dem asked Cap.

"Trana."

"Canada?"

"Yeah."

Eddie, Jazz and Felix had no trouble at all lifting the mattress onto the frame. Felix retrieved a set of sheets and the three men began to make up the beds.

"Got family there?" Dem continued.

"Pop went west. Mumma after but Sissy's there."

"Is she married?"

"Yeah. M'an uncle."

"Are you? Boys or girls?"

"Yeah."

"How many?"

"Three."

The men had a peek at Bernard's things. They found some trousers that were too small for Eddie but passably fit Jazz. Although Cap didn't change out of his hospital blues, they coaxed him into an exquisite navy blue, Japanned dressing gown that was probably meant for an adolescent. Jazz looked on Bernard's desk, found cigars and passed them around. The five friends were kidding each other, playing poker with Eddie's special deck, when Bella knocked on the door. She had removed her apron.

"It is 18:30 gentlemen, and Eddie's parents are expected soon."

"Thank you, darling." Eddie blew a perfect ring in the air. "We shall finish our smokes and join you directly."

Bella waved her hand in the air and coughed. "Ye maun open the window for a few minutes. Tobacco is bad for yer eyes." [i]

"Is it?"

"It is, yes."

"All right, darling."

She shut the door on them. Eddie looked at his chums. "I suppose we should wash up." The door swung open. Bella marched over to Cap and set down the borrowed urinal on the floor. Was she a mind reader? She left without saying anything further.

"Fanny Adams," Cap whispered, round-eyed.

︻┳═一

Isobel pushed upon the door to the parlour and stopped short. Eddie was at the piano again, and the five men were singing softly, in harmony, a mournful air she'd not heard before. It sounded Irish. Although she did not wish to intrude, she couldn't make herself leave, either.

 _On a rainy day in the salient_

 _Was a bloody bomb deployed_

 _The boys were scattered, banners rent_

 _And Fritz was overjoyed_

 _To the trenches we must go_

 _Though our brothers we laid down_

 _Gone west in Flanders' fiery glow_

 _While the rockets fell all round_

 _In the east the Huns rejoiced_

 _Singing hymns of hate and strife_

 _But we'll heed them not, we'll hear our boys_

 _Singing songs of faith and life_

 _And to the trenches we must go_

 _With our brothers we lie down_

 _Going west in Flanders' fiery glow_

 _While the rockets fall all round_

 _Going west in Flanders' fiery glow_

 _While the rockets fall all round…_ _ **[ii]**_

She didn't realize her cheeks were wet until the shrill front bell startled her. Wiping her face fiercely, she collected herself and opened the main door to the house. Eddie's parents' expressions fell blank.

"What's wrong?" Mrs. Masen demanded, grasping Isobel's wrist. Mr. Masen slipped in behind her and shut the door, frowning like thunder.

"Oh, I'm sae sorry." Isobel wiped her eyes again. "Tisnae anything tae worry about. The boys are singing about the war, that's all."

"The boys?" Mr. Masen echoed.

"Eddie and his mates." She found her handkerchief and dried her face. "They're so brave."

"I should like to meet Junie's chums," Mr. Masen said, looking as though he might march through the door uninvited. Isobel touched his arm. [iii]

"I maun tell ye about them first. They… It is vital to remain calm around them. Around the captain and the ensign, I mean. They were… severely injured. Captain McCarty cannae walk and Ensign Hale is badly disfigured." She gestured toward the room. "Plus, Dem and Felix Jones are here. Dem is blind, too. He's been a great help tae Eddie."

"We shall be careful of the invalids," Mr. Masen removed his coat and top hat and placed them in the cupboard, then took Mrs. Masen's and hung it up beside. Mrs. Masen handed Isobel her hat and Isobel placed it carefully on the upper shelf.

"McCarty and Hale may not say much to ye. Dinnae mind them, they're self-conscious."

"Of course." Eddie's father opened the door to the parlour and Isobel and Mrs. Masen preceded him in. Mrs. Biggins's cat, Tiggy-Winkle, slipped in between their feet.

"Eddie, yer mum and da are here," Isobel announced. Eddie swivelled on his stool, stood, and inclined his head. He looked rakishly handsome in the tailored grey suit.

"Hello, Mum."

She offered him her hands and he kissed her cheek. "Hello, Junie."

"Hello, Da."

"Good evening, son."

"May I introduce you to our friends?" [iv]

"Yes, we'd love to meet them."

"This is Captain Emmett McCarty, First Canadian Regiment. I was under his command at St. Julian and Ypres."

"Captain," Mr. Masen said, shaking hands. Mrs. Masen bobbed her head.

Em narrowed his eyes and pointed at Mr. Masen. "You. Proud of your son." Edward's father looked quite disconcerted.

"Yes, of course. He's a Blue Puttee."

"Brave, brave boy."

"I know."

Eddie cleared his throat, discomfited. "And this is my mate, Ensign Jasper Hale, from First Division."

Jasper kept his head down so his hair covered his face, but he held out his hand. "Sir."

"Pleasure ta meet ya, Ensign."

"And you, Mr. Masen. Mrs. Masen."

" So y'are from Canada?"

"Yes. Cap's from Toronto and I'm from Hamilton."

"Have ya no friends from Newfoundland, Junie?"

"Not anymore. This is Felix Jones, an orderly from Number Six Hospital here in Brighton."

"Wonderful to meet you," Felix said. "And this is my elder brother, Demetri."

"Verra nice ta meet ya."

Everyone found a place to sit and chat. Mr. Masen chose a place next to Emmett even though the chair was rather insubstantial for a man his size.

"Isobel." Mrs. Masen perched beside her. "What a lovely gown. Where is it from?"

Isobel touched the lace self-consciously. "I admired it in a local shop. It was imported from Paris." Her mother-in-law's eyes turned dreamy.

"Paris is my favourite place on earth. It has so much art and stunning architecture. And the music! The new opera house is divine. My husband and I spent our honeymoon there and have returned three times since. I long to go back."

Isobel tipped down her chin. "After the war." Tiggy-Winkle jumped onto her lap and settled there with a rumbling purr.

"Of course." Mrs. Masen waved her hand dismissively. "Although I should not like to go another season without visiting my favourite shops. Have you ever been to Chanel? We could go together."

Isobel wished she wouldn't blush. "I'm afraid not, ma'am." She scratched the cat's chin to avoid looking at her mama-in-law.

"Mum." Isobel could tell Eddie was struggling not to grin. "It's not a good time to take a European tour. Fritz is determined to burn things down, you see."

"Oh?" Mrs. Masen blinked. "I rather thought the fighting would be kept to the fields. I suppose it's those Turks. Don't those savages understand the importance of beauty?"

Eddie shook his head. "It's not the Turks, it's all the combatants. Everyone tries not to damage the churches but everything else is… a mess." Half of France was rubble, actually. "It's very dirty, Mum, you wouldn't like it."[v]

"Oh, dear."

Isobel scrambled for a change of subject. "Eddie was playing the piano for us earlier. His talent is astounding."

Mrs. Masen's eyes lit up. "Will you play for me, Junie?"

"Sure. What would you like?"

"Can you still play the _Moonlight_?"

"Yes." He had only played a few phrases when Papa Biggins entered via his study, still dressed in his work clothes. Eddie stopped. "Ah, here's our host!"

"Hello, Eddie! Happy Thanksgiving."

Eddie embraced him warmly. "Thank you, sir. May I introduce you to my parents and friends?"

Mr. Masen bristled. Evidently, he disliked being placed below Mr. Biggins in the pecking order, even though Mr. Biggins owned the house.

"Papa Biggins, this is my da, Anthony Masen Sr."

Eddie's father turned maroon but Mr. Biggins cheerfully held out his hand. "Peter Biggins, sir. What a pleasure it is to meet Eddie's progenitor at last!"

Mr. Masen eyed his hand disdainfully. "Ya have the advantage of me. I know nothing of you, sir. Are ya in trade?"

Papa Biggins placed his hands on his lapels and smiled with satisfaction. "I am the manager of a factory, sir. I oversee a troop of young ladies who paint dials on watches and clocks."

"It's radium paint, da," Eddie said excitedly. "Fantastic stuff. It glows in the dark. They're using it on all sorts of things now."[vi]

"I am also the landlord of this house," Papa Biggins rocked on his feet, "with the help of my charming little woman. And you, sir, how do you spend your days?"

"I own a mine."

"Oh, really? In Newfoundland?"

"Yes. We mine copper and gold."

"So you are also in trade, then. And how fares your business?"

"Exceedingly well, thanks to this war."

Isobel knew then that Papa Biggins and Mr. Masen would never see eye-to-eye. She also understood why Eddie would not want to return to his birthplace. "Eddie was just playing for us, Papa Biggins."

"Wonderful! Will you play some more, dear boy?"

"I should tell Mother Biggins ye're home," Isobel said, hurrying out. She almost ran to the kitchen. Mother Biggins was just getting the goose out of the oven.

"How's it going then?" the lady of the house asked.

Isobel checked that the kitchen door was shut before answering in hushed tones. "I can understand why Eddie ran away from home."

"Is his father a bad 'un?"

"I dinnae think so. His bark is worse than his bite. But he's certainly full o' himself and determined to haff his way in all things."

"And Mrs. Masen?"

"She seems lovely, although verra sheltered."

"Does she like you?"

"I think so."

"Good. If her husband cares for her, and she lets him know she's your ally, there won't be any trouble from him." They shared a brief giggle. "Come on, then, girlie. You can help me slide this bird onto the platter and after that we'll call the family to the table."

︻┳═一

The Biggins' dining room was posh, although extremely Victorian in design. That is to say, it was oppressively cluttered and full of breakables set on little tables that Eddie had trouble avoiding. Game hunting trophies leered down from the walls and tiny stuffed birds posed in flight under domes of glass. The chandelier was wired with gaslight, which made the furniture gleam. The table, dressed in pure white linens, sparkled with bone china, silver, ivory and crystal, and the sideboard groaned under piles of food. Eddie knew that the Bigginses had finally managed to impress his da.

Dinner was (unsurprisingly) scrumptious and the company (surprisingly) pleasant. The best thing to be said of Eddie's da was that he believed in sheltering ladies from the harsher aspects of life, so he didn't ask any questions about the war and steered the conversation away from politics and labour issues. Eddie and Dem attempted to explain the value of the new music to no avail—as Eddie'd expected, and as they spooned up their dessert, Anthony asked Eddie his aspirations.

"I may go to university, once I see how I like the new job."

"Do ya think ya can manage going to school?"

"Bella will help me."

"If ya go, I'll take care of all the expenses."

"Thank you, Da, but the government will pay for it."

"A free education? Ya definitely should take the opportunity. What do ya wish to study?"

"If I don't like the job, I may still go for music."

"And if ya do?"

"Medicine."

"Medicine?" Anthony paused as though stunned. "How on earth is a blind man supposed to be a doctor?"

Eddie sipped his tea. "I am interested in matters of the mind."

"Philosophy?"

"No. Shell shock."

"Ya want ta work with crazies? In madhouses?"

"No." Eddie growled and stirred the bit of custard left in his dish of English trifle, hoping there was another raspberry hidden within. "I want to help people. I want to find cures for mental illnesses so people needn't be sent to asylums."

"Preposterous!"

He pushed away his ire. "Psychiatry."

"Ridiculous psycho-babble!"

Cap banged his fist on the table, making Eddie, Dem and the dishes jump and drawing everyone's eye. "Lieutenant Masen helps the men."

Anthony sucked air. He was unaccustomed to being confronted. "What men?"

"In the hospital." He placed both hands on the table and pushed himself upright. "Thanks for dinner, Mumma."

"You're welcome, lovey."

The table fell silent. Cap took one shuffling step, then another. He gave Jazz a slap on the shoulder and stumbled out. Jazz scrambled up. "Pray excuse me, Mother." His dancing gait was particularly pronounced.

"What's happening?" Dem asked.

Eddie leapt up. "Emmett walked." Bella and the Bigginses were hot on his heels as he chased after his friends, but they weren't in the parlour. Eddie sighed and brushed back his hair. "They must have gone to bed. I'll have to check on them."

"We must be going anyway," Felix said. "Morning comes early."

"That it does."

Dem sought Eddie's hand. "God bless you, mate. Em's a lot stronger than when I first met him."

"He's working hard to get well."

"Thank you for having us, Mrs. Biggins. That was the best dinner I've had in my life," Felix said.

"Don't tell our mum that," Dem said with a wink. "Or my wife."

"Thank you for coming," Eddie hugged his friends and then passed them over to Bella. "See you soon." He held his hand out to his da. "I'm glad you came."

"When will we next see you?"

"Just send a note. We'll make arrangements." He embraced his mother. "Goodnight, Mum."

"Must you go, Junie?"

"Oh, yes," he said deadpan. "You see, I have to go and care for the crazies."

"Crazies?" his da repeated.

"Yes, Father. You see, Emmett and Jasper have shell shock." He gave his da a pat. "And so do I." Ignoring Anthony's splutter and his mother's gasp, he swaggered after his brothers, and gave a gentle knock at the closed bedroom door.

When they didn't respond, he eased the door open and let himself in. Emmett was reclining on top of his new bed with a bunch of pillows behind his back. He was pasty white and shaking. Jasper sat at his hip, his face hidden behind his hair.

Eddie seated himself on the other edge of the bed and took Emmett's hand. "That was fucking fantastic. Sir."

"Th-they'll send me back." He began to hyperventilate and sob.

"Over my dead body."

"If they send Cap back, then I'm going, too," Jasper said mournfully.

"You're not going back. Neither one of you is ever going back there, I promise."

Jasper raised his face. "How can you keep that promise?"

"I work at the hospital," he scoffed. "And you two are plainly not fit for duty."

"What if we get fit?" Jasper asked.

"We'll think of something. Besides, the war can't last forever."

"What if your da…?" Emmett asked.

"He thinks he knows everything, but he doesn't. I can handle him. Harris, too."

"Your father's a bully," Jazz said.

"Nah. Beneath that crusty exterior is a total softy."

"Then why'd you run away?" Jasper wanted to know.

Eddie shook his head. "He worries all the time. And if people don't listen to his opinions, he makes a lot of ultimatums. And he shouts. No matter what I said, he insisted that I go to work in the mine. I hate the mine. He told me he'd disown me if I didn't do as he wished, so I called him on it. If you'll notice, though, he hasn't disowned me. He's just a big talker."

"He's intimidating," Jasper said.

"Windbag?" Em asked.

"Yes."

"Okay." Em began to breathe. He loosened his death grip on Eddie's hand.

"I don't think he'll stay here very long. It's a long way back to Newfoundland and he won't want to be away from his business."

"Mace," Jasper said tentatively, "how long do you think we'll have to stay in the hospital?"

"Depends on Cap."

"Me?"

"Yes. Mother Biggins is old. You need to be more self-sufficient before you come here to live. That means being able to walk to the lavatory by yourself without falling. You'll need to nourish yourself and get some exercise. Can you do that?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I want you here by Christmas."

"Got it."

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

* * *

[i] Doctors were already telling patients that smoking was bad for their eyesight and lungs, but people were just as addicted then as they are now and tobacco companies used glamorous and misleading advertising. Plus, there was no deodorant. Men smoked in order to cover up less pleasant odours.

[ii] The boys have been singing this in my head for a week. It's Eddie's. No stealing. If I ever stop wheezing I might get brave enough to sing it for you.

[iii] **Chums** : thought to be an amalgamation of the words _chamber mates_ , as schoolboys used to call each other dating from the 1700s.

[iv] There is actually a proper, formal process to introductions that most of us don't know today. A person or group of people should be introduced _to_ the person or couple with the highest standing. We mostly do it instinctively. For example, we would say, "Dad, this is my friend…" Back then, the order of introductions was much more scripted.

[v] Both enemies and allies being Christian countries, they attempted to exempt houses of God from the destruction of bombs. However, that could cause difficulties. At Beaumont-Hamel, the white spire of the local church became a point upon which the Huns could measure firing distance, which didn't help the British at all.

[vi] People were wonderfully oblivious to the side effects of radium and phosphorus although chemists wore protective lead gear when manufacturing it. Radium powder was a huge fad. It was put in make-up, painted on clothing, signs, the dials of watches and clocks, and even used to make condoms glow. Many people who worked in factories with radium eventually died of radiation poisoning. A famous court case was brought against factory owners by five Radium Girls, who were poisoned around 1917. They made watches for the US military. Eventually the successful suit resulted in strict labour laws governing the handling and care of radium. Despite the known hazard, radium continued to be used on the hands and numbers of watches up into the 1960s.

︻┳═一

 **A/N: I am still alive. Thanks for waiting for me. It's been a challenging summer. Xoox j**


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22:

︻┳═一

Monday, October 9, 1916

︻┳═一

"How was your night?" Eddie asked as Bella poured hot tea for the four of them. Emmett didn't respond. He was staring off into space. Eddie tapped his hand and repeated his question but Cap didn't show any sign of having heard him.

"He had wicked nightmares," Jazz said.

"Blast. I was hoping both of you would get a better rest here than at the hospital."

Jazz took a careful sip of his tea, and licked his lip. "It was a wonderful evening. It's just… standing up for us took a lot out of him."

"I know." Eddie reached across the table and took Emmett's hand. "Cap?" He gave it a firm squeeze. "Cap, you're not going back to the war, remember?"

Emmett returned the pressure of the handshake. "M'I going west?"

"No, sir. You're a Blighty like us. We're all staying right here."

"Grand slam's coming. They told us."[i] His tone was eerily flat.

"Maybe, but we won't be part of it."

"Dunno what's real."

"Buck up. We all feel that way sometimes. Do you know where we are?"

"Mumma's table. Don't like…"

"What is it?"

Emmett pointed toward the corner with a shaking hand. "There's a Turk over there."

Eddie wished he could see what Emmett was pointing at. "Sir?"

"Over there." Emmett swallowed hard. "Hiding beside the fire."

Bella tut-tutted sympathetically. "Tis nae a Turk, my dear. Tis just Papa Biggins's trench coat. Mother Biggins put it beside the fireplace to dry."

"Heathen devil's spying."

Bella marched over to the hooks on the wall and fetched down Papa Biggins's muddy coat. She delivered it to Emmett, who took hold of it and gave it a good inspection.

"You sure there's no Turk?" he whispered.

"Quite certain. And should one dare to stick his ugly mush in here, I shall shoot him." She returned the trench coat to its place.[ii]

Eddie couldn't help but smile. "With what shall you shoot him, dear Bella?"

"Why, with Papa Biggins's elephant gun, of course."

"Fanny Adams," Emmett murmured reverently.

"Does he really have an elephant gun?" Jazz wanted to know.

"Indeed, he does. And ye need not go looking for it. He keeps it locked up."

"Golly." Jazz hid behind his hair. "Be nothing left of a Turk if she shot him with that."

"Break her shoulder," Emmett warned. "Kicks back."

"I doubt it," Eddie said. "I think she'd do just fine."

" _She_ is the cat."[iii] Bella plucked up her chef's rings, shook the frypan and tipped its contents into a cloth-lined basket, which she delivered to the table. "Now, my dears, I hope ye'll make quick work of this breakfast. We need tae get tae the hospital soon."

"Hot crumpets," Jazz said with relish.

"With butter." Bella set down the small dish on the table. "Fall in, gentlemen."

The crumpets were delightfully chewy and perfectly soggy with sweet butter. The quartet gobbled up eleven, leaving only two for Mother Biggins to eat at her leisure. A hot buttered crumpet and strong tea make everything better. As they rose from the table, they were all still licking melted butter from their fingers.

After some debate, Jazz and Cap had decided not to wear any of their new things back to the hospital lest they be lost. When Jazz carried Cap outside to his wheelchair before sunrise, Bella thought it necessary to wrap him in a blanket, for the autumn air was chilly. Eddie took hold of her arm and murmured to her before she could dash upstairs.

"Not an army blanket."

"Should I take one from Bernard's room?"

"Yes. You can bring it back after we take the men back to their room."

"All right."

Eddie shivered slightly as he strolled back over to his friends. "We're going to have to get winter clothes soon."

"Yes." Jazz grasped the push-bar of Cap's chair. "God help the poor bastards in the Somme."

︻┳═一

At oh-six hundred, Eddie sank onto his usual chair in Harris's office. The doctor was pacing, which normally meant he was disposed to be nervous. Eddie waited calmly for the man to get to the point. Finally, on his twelfth pass, Harris cleared his throat.

"There's a…" He stopped, seemingly unable to decide how to proceed. After a few beats, he cleared his throat to try again. "We have a very terrible case arriving. I think I shall need your help with it, but if it becomes too much for you, you must tell me immediately. You don't have the training…"

Eddie shifted his cane to rest against his thigh. "Acknowledged. What is the man's difficulty?"

"Suicidal."

"Ah."

Harris waved his hand dismissively. "That's not why I need you."

"All right."

Sighing, Harris pulled his chair around the desk so he could sit close enough for Eddie to see him. "What do you know about tanks?"

Eddie's forehead crinkled. "Tanks? Water tanks?"

"No, tanks as in secret weapons."

A laugh escaped him. "They're certainly a secret from me."

Harris lifted a shoulder. "I thought you might know something of them, since you're an officer."

Eddie shook his head. "I'll tell you a military secret. No field officer below the rank of major knows a damn thing that's going on out there. Some Brass pass a plan down the line and hopefully by the time it's put in action, it still resembles the original idea. It's like that parlour game where one person whispers something in the ear of the next, and by the time the last person to hear it recites what he heard, it's a totally different message. Do you understand?"

"But that's…"

"Folly?" Eddie tapped his cane. "The idea is to make sure that as few people as possible know the details. That way, most of the soldiers can't spill their guts under torture."

"Torture?"

Eddie laughed without humour. "Tell me about the tanks, Doctor."

"I needn't tell you to keep the information hush-hush."

"Naturally."

"I include Mrs. Masen in this warning. Tell no one."

"Is this a matter of national security?"

"It goes farther than that. The outcome of the war may depend upon it."

Eddie's jaw dropped. He snapped it shut and clutched his cane. "You may rely upon my discretion."

"Tanks are like lorries with armoured plating. They look rather like turtles. Churchill calls them battleships for crossing dry land."

Eddie leaned forward. "Why are they called tanks?"

"That's the code word for them. If any message was intercepted by the Germans, it was hoped that they'd think our armies were moving water tanks around."

"Smart."

"Yes. They know what tanks are now, of course, as they've met them on the battlefield. So the idea is to drive the tanks right up through the enemy lines. They're very heavy and can crush trenches by driving over them, and they can be heavily armed."

"That's fantastic! They're sure to bring the Krauts to their knees."

"Well," Harris demurred, "they're still prototypes. Haig wanted to use them at Beaumont-Hamel but they weren't ready.[iv] They're still not as effective as one would wish. Machine guns can penetrate their hulls and the shrapnel is dangerous to the crews. The men are supposed to wear chain mail hoods to keep them from being blinded. But the bigger issue is that the gunners can't see out of the tanks very well. Visibility in the battlefield is almost nonexistent. Which brings us to our present problem."

"The new patient."

"Yes. On September 15th, a battle began at Flers-Courcelette, near Pozières. The British sent in the tanks. Guess it scared Fritz pretty badly, but not enough to make him turn tail and run."

"Shame."

"Agreed. Well, as I said, it's very hard to see out of a tank during battle."

"It's hard to see on the battlefield anyway."

"Which is why our patient has not been court-marshaled and shot."

"Uh-oh."

"Precisely. The man has received a lot of specialized training and the higher-ups want him back."

Dread oozed into Eddie's stomach. "What happened?"

"This fellow—Gunnery Sargent Jonathan Keller—is the best gunner of the lot. He'd had a lot of successful hits that day, until everything went bad."

Eddie nodded. "Please continue."

"He saw a large group of men near the German front lines, so he fired a pretty substantial shell at them."

"But?"

"They were British. He killed thirty men and maimed a dozen more."

Eddie steepled his fingers in front of his nose and gasped for breath. Tears burned his eyes. He didn't know whether he was horrified for Keller or by him.

"Keller is Canadian."

Red hot fury blazed through Eddie's chest and left him shaking his head adamantly. "I can't do this."

"I thought you, of all people, would know how it felt to instigate the deaths of many."

"Are you blaming me now?" He was on his feet, raising his voice. "You told me I shouldn't blame myself for following orders!"

"I don't fault you. You were following orders and you had no choice in it. And Keller was also following orders. He simply made a tragic mistake."

Now, Eddie was the one pacing. He shook his fist at his boss. "I am nothing like him. Nothing!"

"But—"

"Do you realize… how fucking hard…" He blinked away hot tears. "I tried to preserve the lives of my men?" He held up his reliquary ring so Harris could see it, then pulled his hand back to his chest and covered it protectively with his left. "I would give anything to have them back. I would sell my soul to have Dildo back, and he wasn't even likeable." He splayed his arms. "Sending fifty-nine boys over the top was no careless accident, Doctor. I agonized over it for what felt like forever. It ripped my heart out." He pressed his memorial band to his lips. "I loved them. They're all dead and there's nothing I can do about it. There's no turning back the clock."

"That's what Keller said."

"Go to hell!" Keller didn't even know the men he slaughtered. Eddie sprinted across the room and argued with the door. He fled out the main door into teeming rain and slithered down the steps. To think he had been optimistic about the job! He wanted to quit. Would Bella be disappointed? He'd be giving up an awful lot of money. But was it worth his peace of mind?

His feet automatically carried him to his favourite haunt. The cold stone was wet upon the backs of his thighs. He traced the face of his casket ring.

"I'm sorry," he said for the millionth time. "I didn't mean to be hateful. If I could only have you back, it would be different. I never meant for you to kill yourself. I don't blame you, I blame myself. I never dreamed you were so miserable that you'd blow yourself up rather than give your life for your country. It's my fault you hated me. I earned it. But just because I wasn't patient with you doesn't mean I didn't love you just as much as I loved the others. What I wouldn't give… to have you here."

He pulled his rosary from his pocket and began to pray in the rain, not caring that his new suit was quite soaked through. He wasn't quite sure what he was praying for, but knew the Spirit would carry pain to God that he couldn't put into words.

 _There's not a damn thing I can do to turn back the clock._

 _I can't fix any of that mess._

 _I wish to God I could bring them all back._

 _How will I ever surrender this guilt? It's impossible._

Eddie jumped and dropped his rosary as a warm hand settled on the back of his shoulders. Harris picked it up and handed it back, and Eddie wiped it off and tucked it safely into his pocket. Harris sat down beside him on the bench, sharing his large black umbrella in addition to his sheltering arm. Raindrops fell on the silk with the verisimilitude of bullets penetrating flesh and Eddie shivered.

"Please forgive me, Lieutenant."

"I'm not like Keller. I am not careless."

"I know that, Eddie. I spoke carelessly. I didn't mean to imply you were anything less than a consummate soldier."

"Then why do you think I have things in common with this piece of trash? Why do you think I could help him? And why do you think I would want to?"

"Well, you know the old saying. There but for the grace of God go I." Harris gave Eddie a companionable nudge. "I just thought you might be able to relate to the fellow. He was an excellent soldier, too, you know. A hero, like you. And young, like you. Now he can't change what happened no matter how much he longs to. He didn't mean to harm his allies and his life has been nothing but horrors since."

"Is he injured?"

"No. Just mentally unstable."

"I don't know if I can care about him, Doctor."

"You believe that your decision to follow orders was a tragic mistake."

"And you think I can find common ground because he made a tragic mistake?"

"Yes. Will you forgive me for my mistakes?"

Eddie rubbed his chest. "You wounded me. I forgive you, but I don't know if I'll be able to forget it. I thought you respected me."

"I do. I admire you immensely. But I didn't express myself well."

Eddie shook his head and laughed bitterly. " 'But the tongue can no man tame. It is an unruly member, full of deadly poison. With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in God's likeness'."[v]

"The older we get, the harder it is to tame the tongue."

"Yes. I don't think it's possible to achieve. Not only do we curse others, we curse ourselves."

"So, can you curse this poor sod without becoming a hypocrite?"

Eddie grimaced. "No. But it's bloody hard to be a soldier and love your enemies."

"If the war ended today, would you hate your enemies?"

"Probably."

"Well, that's honest," he said cheerfully.

"It's necessary to dehumanize them. When one is cold, wet and bone tired, if one starts to think that Fritz is wishing he was tucked up in bed at home with his wife, one hesitates long enough to be impaled on his bayonet. There can be no mercy. It's… dispassionate."

"I have seen you express pity for your enemies."

Eddie gritted his teeth. "It depends upon the enemy."

"You surprise me."

"Some men belong in hell, Doctor. And I would be glad to speed them on their way."

"The Hippocratic Oath says to do no harm."

"Does it say to prosper the wicked?"

"No. But your own creed says, 'Judge not, lest ye be judged'."

Eddie shook his head slightly. "The Bible says not to seek vengeance, too, but I would be a liar if I said I haven't done it. I'm not Jesus, Dr. Harris. No man is perfect."

"Which brings us back to Keller."

Eddie sighed. "I'll think about it."

Harris slapped him on the back. "Good man. Now, might we go inside? My backside's getting numb."

"You're soft," Eddie laughed. "You'd never have made it in Gallipoli."

︻┳═一

When Eddie went up to his old room, he found Cap huddled up in bed and Jazz playing solitaire near the window. Eddie's bed was gone so he placed his borrowed hospital blues on the foot of Jasper's bed and stooped to untie his boots.

"What happened to you?" Jazz demanded. "You look like a drowned rat."

"I was outside." He peeled off his sodden jacket and unhooked his suspenders.

"Obviously."

"I'm stuck wearing blues today." His trews hit the floor with a _whap_.

"Don't they bother your allergies?"

"Flannels are superior to wools. I don't know why." He stripped off the rest of his kit and Jazz threw a towel at him.

"Here."

"Thanks."

"So, how's your first day?"

"I've already told Harris to go to hell, and I'm soaking wet." He put on his borrowed slippers.

"That good, eh?"

"Yep." Nevertheless, he felt better in the warm, dry clothes. "How you doing, Cap?" Emmett began to retch.

"Couple of the doctors used the word regression," Jazz murmured. Eddie saw red. He marched over to Emmett's cot and gave him a sharp pinch on the arm.

"No!" Eddie snapped. The captain was so surprised that he stopped fussing. Eddie latched onto his shoulders. "You are not going to do this, sir," he hissed. "You're better than this. I saw your strength last night. You promised me you'd get strong again, and be here for me and Jazz, and Mother Biggins. You gave me your word that you'd eat and exercise and be home for Christmas."

"They wanna give me electric shock."

"To the head?" Eddie was agog.

"To the spine. Doctor said it'll get me fit for duty."

"Being able to walk does not make you fit for duty. It's bull. They think they're being encouraging but they don't know shit."

"Don't wanna get court-marshalled, Mace."

"Emmett, you have to trust me."

"Sonny, I'm trying."

"I don't know why we survived when others didn't, Cap, but God obviously isn't finished with us yet."

"I'm scared."

"Me, too."

"Me, three," Jazz said.

"One minute at a time, okay? Let's try not to look too far ahead."

"There's enough trouble in the present without looking to the future," Jazz said.

Eddie shook his head. "I'll say."

Cap rolled toward Eddie and tucked his hand under his cheek. "Flannel and fleece. Sissy knows all about Esmond. Sells bunny blankets."[vi]

"Your sister makes Bunny Esmond baby blankets?" Eddie asked.

"I didn't know that," Jazz said.

"Doesn't make them, she sells them. At the Bay."

"Wow," Jazz said. "Your sister's a shop girl at Hudson's Bay?"

"Yeah."

"I went to that store once. It was sure something to see."

"Yeah."

"When was the last time you heard from her?" Eddie asked.

"Two weeks."

"Do you write back?"

"No."

"You should write back," Jazz murmured. "She's your sister."

Cap pushed himself upright. "Okay, I know. What do I say?"

"Tell her it's been hard but you're getting better," Jazz suggested. "And tell her about us and Mumma Biggins."

"Okay." Emmett opened the drawer beside his bed and took out a sheet of paper.

"And tell her you're sorry you haven't written," Jazz said.

Eddie stood up and stretched. "I'll leave you to it."

"Okay."

"When you're done, give it to me and I'll mail it for you."

"Won't you get in trouble?" Jazz asked. "We're supposed to give our letters to Harris."

"Do you want Harris reading them?"

"Uh, no."

"See you at lunch." Eddie gathered his wet things and went off in search of Katie, for Dr. Harris had told him that she might hang his clothes by a fire to dry.

Eddie wasn't ready to meet Jonathan Keller, but in time he thought he might be able to handle it. Meanwhile, he had a job, and a lot of other unexpected blessings. There had to be a couple of men who needed to hear that their lives weren't over. He would ask Katie where to begin.

* * *

[i] **Grand Slam** : British trench slang for an impending attack or battle.

[ii] **Mush** : common slang in 1915 meaning face.

[iii] **She is the cat** : a phrase indicating that it is impolite to talk about someone who is present without naming them.

[iv] Haig was more than a little miffed that the 49 prototype **tanks** promised to him weren't battle-ready in time for July 1, 1916. However, they were clunky, hard to manoeuvre, could be tipped over, sunk in mud or blown up, and weren't impervious to machine gun fire. As well, on many occasions, tank gunners mistook their targets and wiped out friendlies. Still, they were regarded as a marvelous innovation and adjustments were speedily made to improve them. For example, a chicken wire cage was placed over the top hatch so grenades couldn't be lobbed inside—a simple but masterful tweak. By mid-1917, the world's concept of modern warfare changed forever due to evolved tanks and aircraft. The Germans did not develop their own tanks until after capturing one made by the British. They made some deadly and terrifying tanks of their own, though. The first German tank, the A7V of 1918, was referred to as _Sturmpanzerwagen_ (Storm-armoured-vehicles). By WWII, German tanks were simply referred to as Panzers, which were frighteningly deadly machines.

[v] _James 3:8-9, NKJ_

[vi] **Esmond** was a very famous blanket mill in Springfield, Rhode Island from 1906-1948. Their biggest selling items were baby blankets and miniature dolly blankets of wonderfully soft fleece. Esmond's marketing was very canny. They wrote a little paperback storybook about a Bunny named Esmond who's tricked out of his fur by some wily foxes and ends up wearing a blanket that's much softer than his real fur. The book was distributed for free—but always nearby a store that carried the Esmond Bunny Blankets. When I was a child, my mother gave me her baby blankets and 1930's dolly blankets to play with. I still remember having the box, which is quite collectible now. The dolly blankets survived to be passed on to my own children, but I don't think any of the items are still around. However, I still have my wee Bunny Esmond book from the 1930's.

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

My Wednesdays have gotten away from me. Since I've disappointed you a couple of times this month, I thought we'd do this today.

I just got back from Vegas and Red Rock Canyon was awesome. Fall is on its way to Canada. In November, I plan to release _Cats & Dogs_. Since part of the proceeds will go to pediatric cancer research, I'd appreciate any buzz you can give me. The cover reveal is only a couple of weeks away.

Enjoy the last days of August.

Xoox Jess


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23:

︻┳═一

Wednesday, October 11, 1916

︻┳═一

Eddie groaned and cuffed Private Marshall upside the head. "Stuff it, PBI. Stop picking on a blind man." One of the men in the small ward guffawed. More kept wandering in. There had to be ten enlisted men present already.

"Oi! Respect yer elders, Itchy." Marshall waggled his knitting in Eddie's face, just close enough to constitute assault upon an officer. Itchy felt not the least bit threatened. Marshall was a plump old pussycat.

"Stop waving that fucking yarn at me then, old man."

"Ooh, such language from an officer. Kiss yer mum with that mouth, do yer?" He dangled the knitting so it just brushed Eddie's trous.

Eddie pushed Marshall's arm away with his forearm. "If you keep waving that fucking wool at me, girly, I'm going to have to teach you a lesson." Some of the men began to laugh and nudge each other.

"I wouldn't mess with him if I were you," Jazz said as he came into the room. "We call him Mace for a reason. Man hits like a bloody sledgehammer."

"How'd you know that, then?" Marshall demanded.

"Watched him take down more than his fair share of Krauts in Ypres. Bastard hardly left any for the rest of us."

"Did he?" Marshall's tone conveyed more respect. "Thought he was a bit of a Nance." Ah, and there was the teasing.

Eddie took a cigarette out of his case and waved dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. Kiss my ass." He passed the case to Marshall, who gladly set aside his knitting in favour of a fag.

Jazz crossed his arms. "Mace didn't mouse out when they made him wear the wool, PBI. You'd do well to remember he's hard as fucking steel."

Eddie snorted and passed the cigarette case to the next man. "There are only six, so you'll have to pass them around." He'd learned not to bring too many of his Dunhill's with him to work. Somebody always needed to bum a fag. Admittedly, they were a great way to foster camaraderie, as was Private Barker, who was happily lapping up the attention of a dozen lonely hands.

"Ooh, fanks guv!" one of the men exclaimed. "Vese are ve good-uns."

"You're welcome."

"How long'd you wear the uniform, then?" Marshall asked, saluting him with his fag.

"Three years, or thereabouts." Eddie knocked on Marshall's knee with his bad hand. "Now, Private, would you like to explain why you're threatening a superior officer with whatever shitty item that is that you're knitting? What _are_ you knitting, anyhow, your own personal flag? Or is it a really horrendous pair of ladies' skivvies?"

"Fuck off, Johnny, it's a scarf," Marshall said with obvious pleasure while his mates razzed him. He shifted in his chair. "Seriously, though. Are the upper yobs trying to turn the Old Sweats into pansies? This is woman's work."i

Eddie sobered. He sucked in on his fag and let the smoke exit his nose. "I wish I could knit." The men stopped chatting and he knew they were staring. He took another hasty draw, then, flicked his ash into the nearest ashtray. "I can't do fucking anything but blather at people. It was so bloody cold in Gallipoli. What I wouldn't have given for all my mates to have scarves and gloves, and dry socks."

One of the men near the back cleared his throat quietly. "I was in Gallipoli last month."

"Oh, yeah? What part?" As Eddie listened, a few of the men picked up knitting needles and corking spools.ii

"Didn't make it past the shoreline. Fucking ice cracked when we got off the boat and half my mates went under. My lung collapsed."

"Yeah." Eddie dragged on his fag. "Fucking Turks." He shuddered dramatically.

"Right cock-up that was."

"Indeed." A shaft of light pierced Eddie's eyes. Across the hall from the ward, a man had opened his door. It could only be Jonathan Keller. Eddie waved at his blurry form. "Hey." The man disappeared and the door clicked shut.

"You don't want to talk to him, mate," Ensign Drury said, flicking his ash into the tray. "He's not fit to be amongst us."

"Hm." Eddie exhaled smoke and stubbed out his butt. "It's my job." Not that he'd seen Keller in his three days of employment, mind. But Eddie had to admit he was exceedingly curious. Perhaps it was time to discover if the man had any redeeming qualities. Harris had reminded Eddie daily that the Brass wanted Keller back.

Eddie stretched, picked up his cane and stood. "No time like the present."

"Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Drury?"

"My gran used to knit using strips of cotton instead of wool."

"Really? Maybe I can help after all."

"Yer going, guv?"

"Can't just sit here all day, can I?" He carefully tapped his way to the door. "If I do, they'll call me a dildo and chuck me out on my ass."

"That'd start a big row," Marshall said.

"Can't fight the Brass. Besides, you're merely in love with my dog. Later, gentlemen." Eddie gave the men a crisp salute, then, used his cane to tap his way across the hall. He left Private Barker with his affectionate admirers. Jazz caught up with Eddie and took hold of his arm.

"You want me to come along?"

"Nah. I need to get a bead on him."

"Okay."

"How's Cap this afternoon?"

"Seems a bit better today."

"Good. You got any fags?"

"Sure."

"I only need one." Eddie took a fag out of the tin Jazz presented. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Have fun in there, eh?"

"Right. Cheerio, mate."

"Pip pip."

︻┳═一

"Hello?" Eddie called softly as he opened the door. "May I come in?"

"What do you want?"

"I'm Eddie. I work here. They call me Itchy. Or Mace."

"Answer the question."

"Thought you might want some company, that's all."

"Well, I don't, so bugger off."

"Fine." Eddie put his hand on the latch but paused. "I can see you're just bogged down with guests. Have a good day."

"Right. There are no good days."

Eddie rolled his eyes but it hurt so he stopped. "It's not so bad here."

"And you'd say that because you work here."

"Actually, I used to be a patient. I was in here for weeks."

"What for?"

"Tried to top myself."

"You're joshing."

"Nope. Want a cigarette?"

Keller paused. "Is this where you hold it out to me and then snatch it back and laugh?"

"Of course not." Eddie walked over to Keller and offered him Jazz's fag. After Keller took it, Eddie offered him his lighter. Keller took a deep drag and blew out his breath. He dropped Eddie's lighter into his hand. Eddie was surprised he let his fingers brush his palm. Keller wasn't as abrasive as he let on.

"That's heaven." He exhaled with obvious pleasure.

"Do you mind if I sit?"

"Suit yourself."

Eddie grasped the back of the plain wooden chair and moved it closer to Keller's. For the first time, he was able to get a look at him. Eddie was surprised. Keller had all the wholesome looks of a farm boy. Blond and tan, possibly freckled. Except, he had purple circles under his eyes and one side of his face was swollen up like a balloon.iii

"What happened to your face?"

Keller said nothing.

"Who hit you?" Eddie still didn't get an answer. "The men don't like you."

Keller snorted. "They've no reason to. Especially since Harris thought it would be a good idea to tell a few of them why I'm here."

Eddie shook his head. "The man has good intentions but he's a bit touched. Think he's spent too much time here." Not even a laugh. But what did Keller have to laugh about? "How did it happen?"

Keller paused. "Thought you'd butter me up with a fag, eh?"

"Well, it couldn't hurt, eh?" He rested his elbows on his knees. "They didn't court-marshal you, and they want you back."

"I am never, never going back!" Keller spat.

"Tell me about the tanks."

"Why?"

"The technology is amazing. I wish we'd had them at Beaumont-Hamel."

"You were at Beaumont-Hamel?" Keller asked softly.

"First day of the Battle of the Somme. That's how I lost my sight. Got a few other souvenirs, too. But the worst thing is the guilt."

"Guilt?"

"I was in charge of a platoon. Led my boys over the top. They all perished. And here I am."

"How many?"

"Fifty nine."

"That's twice as many as me, almost. But _you_ did it intentionally."

Eddie pushed away a flare of panic. He'd never expected to be judged. But wasn't it natural that Keller would want to push off his guilt on someone else? Hadn't Eddie done the same thing when he found out about Keller? "I followed orders. Every day, I wish I hadn't. But, you know, my wife would have suffered if I'd refused."

"And this is why you tried to top yourself."

"Yeah."

Keller was quiet for a few moments. He grabbed the pristine ashtray off his small table and stubbed out the butt. "You don't look old enough to be married. Or to have been in charge of a platoon."

"I was one of the most senior officers on the battlefield. The Brass promoted me because there was no one else. And yes, I married young."

"How old?"

"I'm eighteen now."

"Jesus fucking—"

"Don't blaspheme."

Keller crossed his arms. "There is no God."

"Well." Eddie had never felt so ill equipped to deal with a man's upset. "I can see why you would feel that way, so I guess it won't do any good to tell you that we're still here because God's not finished with us yet."

"You guess correctly. The only reason I'm still here is that the sons of bitches won't let me die."

"There's still plenty to live for."

"Are you a dunce? I killed our boys." He punctuated his words with thumps to his chest. "I set back the war effort. I gave the Brass a good reason to stop investing in tanks. I fucked up and I'm not going back to do it again. How can my parents even hold up their heads? I've destroyed everything that matters!"

"Quiet down," Eddie ordered sharply. "A lot of the men here are terrified of noise and you can start helping by not making it worse."

Keller opened his mouth and shut it again. There was another stretch of uncomfortable silence.

"You said you 'gave the Brass a good reason to stop investing in tanks'."

"So what?"

"So, you want them to keep investing in tanks."

"Tanks could be the saving of this war, but only if they make them more efficient and make it possible to see out of them during battle. It's almost impossible to see. I've watched drivers put them upside down in trenches. That's a mess, believe me."

"I bet."

"And don't you romanticize them. Yes, if they plate them in armour, tanks can keep the men inside safe, but it's hell being in there, like being shut up in a can. It's ungodly hot, and reeks of unwashed men. It's crowded and bumpy. There's only a bucket to piss in. They aren't easy to manoeuvre and all the Huns have to do is lob a potato masher through the top and everyone's done for."

"I see."

"Don't patronize me. I didn't even know I'd bombed our own men until after we returned to base. My mates and I were laughing and congratulating ourselves, and then my CO told us. I should have shot myself right then."

"You shouldn't talk that way."

"What? You tried to do it, didn't you?"

"It was a mistake. We can't change the past but we can try to make the future brighter."

"By going back to the Somme and killing more soldiers?" When Eddie didn't respond, Keller huffed triumphantly. "See, you don't believe that shit either."

"War is hell."

"War is evil."

"We do it to protect our way of life and our loved ones."

"Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep nights?"

Eddie was stunned. "Does attacking me make you feel better?"

Keller bowed his head. "I don't know."

"You're alive. That's not random. Maybe you should use your time to figure out why, instead of wallowing in the muck. Harris read your file to me. You've a lot of potential. Already done a lot for a twenty-year-old. Bit of a phenom yourself, eh?"

"How many men do you suppose feel that way about me?"

"How many supporters do you need?"

"The men here won't even talk to me. They punch me where it doesn't show. They take my things. Part of me loves that because I deserve it. And part of me thinks it's not fair."

Eddie stood. "It's not fair. And the only way to stop bullies is to stand up to them. If part of you is grateful for the abuse, you're probably encouraging the men to dislike you. Put that in your pipe and smoke it."

"Do you find me likeable?"

"Hah! Not very. But you're not trying to make a good impression, are you?"

Keller bowed his head. "Will you come back?"

"Are you going to keep being an asshole?"

"I don't know."

"Thanks for the honesty."

"You're welcome." He peeked up at Eddie. "Do you… have any more fags?"

"Sorry. I go through a lot of them here. I'm going to have to start stashing a couple away for emergencies. I could sure use one right now." He took his case out to prove it was empty. "Once the boys see this come out, they're on me like a pack of wild dogs."

"They like you, though, don't they? You don't need tobacco to make friends."

"They like me because I give them no reason to dislike me."

"Well, I may be the exception."

"Hm?"

"I might just hate you."

Eddie laughed aloud. "You're bloody charming, aren't you?"

"And you're a fake. You don't really care about me, you just want to send me back to the front where I can do more damage. So you can fuck yourself. I am done with living."

Eddie crossed his arms, his grin refusing to fade. "You want the truth, Sargent?"

"That would be refreshing."

"I don't think I've ever met a sorrier sack of shit. You are pathetic. Know what? Harris read me your entire file. I admit, I judged you worthless before he told me about your stellar accomplishments. I hated you for what you'd done. But that's not who I am. I like to think the best of people. I'd like to think you didn't want to hurt our own people and that you're sorry for it. But I can see that you're nothing but a coward."

"Wow, what wonderful bedside manner."

"I came in here and offered you respect and kindness, and you threw it in my face. I told Harris I wouldn't be able to help you, and you've proven me right. Best of luck, Sargent Keller. I hope you find peace." He marched for the door.

"Wait!"

Eddie stopped with his hand on the latch. "What?"

"I need help. I'm lost."

Eddie turned and slowly walked back to his chair. "This is your last chance."

"Okay."

He sat down and held out his bad hand. "Hi, I'm Eddie."

Keller shook it but didn't let go. "I'm Jon." They sat quietly for some time, just holding hands. Eddie decided that Keller was more in need of companionship than counsel so he didn't push. And then the door burst open and a man rushed in, making both Eddie and Keller jump.

"Eddie!" Jazz yelled. "They've taken Cap for Electroshock!"

"Holy shit." Eddie sprang to his feet. "Sorry, gotta go."

︻┳═一

"What's in the box?" Mother Biggins asked excitedly, watching the strapping lad carry it up the stairs. It was large enough to hold the contents of two trunks.

"I expect it's mae winter clothes," Isobel said, waving for Mrs. Biggins to follow her up. "I asked mae auntie to send me a few things."

Mother Biggins held her voluminous black skirts wide as she ascended the stairs. "Oh, that's good, that is. You won't have to spend money on new clothes."

"I just hope some of them still fit me. The last time I wore these, I was fifteen." She opened the door to her room for the delivery boy. "Just set it doon. Thank ye."

"Would you like me to open it, ma'am?"

"Yes, please."

He took a small crow and pried off the lid of the crate. Isobel handed him a haypenny. "Thank you, missus." He tipped his cap and hurried out, doubtless hoping to make a couple more deliveries before the end of the day.

Isobel moved aside the white paper in the top of the crate and found something unexpected. Something white. Almost all of her housedresses were darker colours. "What on earth?" She gently lifted the fabric.

"Heavens." Mother Biggins blinked. "Your aunt's sent you a bridal veil."

Isobel shook her head. "I cannae understand why. Eddie and I haff been married over a year." She set down the almost floor-length piece of lace on the blue chair and took out the next item. "Oh, my. What can she be thinking?"

The Victorian wedding dress took up half the room in the crate. Underneath it was an envelope addressed to Isobel in Aunt Maggie's spidery hand. Isobel set the dress aside and tore open the missive. A stack of pound notes and a small, embossed greeting card fell out. Isobel set those items on the table and unfolded the sheet of letter paper that had been wrapped around them. After she read it, she began to laugh. The laugh sounded bitter even to her.

"What does it say?" Mother Biggins asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

Isobel sat in her usual chair and waved the letter. "Ye'd think I neffer told her aught about the wedding. She disnae even begin it with a friendly salutation. How am I gang tae tell Eddie? He'll be sae fashed. Here, read it."

Mother Biggins accepted the single sheet of paper and walked to the window so she might read it in the best light.

 _Isobel,_

 _You cannot imagine the shock and distress the news of your marriage has brought your family. And now, after four years of rebelliousness, you write to ask me to send you your things. Truthfully, most of the dresses were woefully out of fashion and I disposed of them to the servants two years ago, keeping only enough to clothe you temporarily should you have returned to us, at which time I should have provided a new wardrobe. That duty now falls to your husband. Of course, your other possessions are packed and await your arrival._

 _I can only assume that your hasty marriage was accomplished out of necessity. I hope, at least, it took place within the sanctity of the Holy See._

Mother Biggins frowned. " 'I shall expect you and Mr. Masen to return to France," she looked up to gawp at Isobel, whose eyes were bright with tears, "where you will present yourselves before the nearest priest for a proper wedding. You shall document the marriage with photographs and bring them to me personally in London. Your husband and you shall present yourselves as guests of honour at a formal wedding party. You will find the invitation enclosed.

" 'The funds necessary to alter this gown and buy suitable attire for your soldier are enclosed. I can only hope that he can be made presentable.' " Mother Biggins gestured with the letter. "She doesn't even sign it with a pleasantry."

Isobel coughed and wiped her eyes. "I didnae anticipate this level disrespect. Eddie grew up in a house far finer than that of Aunt Maggie. I'm offended."

"As well you should be." She handed the letter back to Isobel. "Perhaps you should sever the relationship."

"Yes, but I want mae things. I have mementos of mae father, and books that I cherish, and mae gran's locket. Evidently, the only way I'm going to get them back is to subject Eddie to an audience with Aunt Maggie."

"I expect he's more than up to it, my dear. I wouldn't worry."

︻┳═一

Eddie walked straight into the therapy room with Jazz on his heels just as Emmett cried out. "What the fuck is going on here?" he barked.

A nurse stepped into his path. "Sir, you can't come in here."

"The hell I can't. Where's Harris?"

"I'm Dr. Morton. Who are you?"

"Lieutenant Masen. I have authority over this patient." Emmett cried out again. "What do you think you're doing?"

"As you can see," Morton said, guiding Eddie over to the tall cot, "this man's limbs move. He simply must be convinced that he can walk."

Emmett stank of sweat, fear and shit. "This ends now," Eddie growled. "This man is mentally unfit to handle this treatment."

"He's deluded. Thinks he can't walk, so he can't."

Eddie flexed his fists. "I know the file inside out. He's emaciated and his muscles are severely atrophied. He'll walk when he's gained weight and strength."

"He'll walk when he faces the fact that he can. Besides, he doesn't eat enough to sustain a man of his height. Refuses food."

"That's not true."

"Water," Emmett moaned. "Help. Please." Jasper slipped up to the stretcher and took Emmett's hand.

"Who gave you authority to treat him?" Eddie demanded.

"He went behind Harris's back," Jazz said. "Harris told Cap this morning that this wouldn't happen."

Eddie held his temper with difficulty. "Is that true?"

Morton crossed his arms. "I have been authorized by the hospital director. We need men with McCarty's expertise at the front."

"He'd be worthless at the front. Look at him shake. I served with this man and he's not a malingerer, he's a hero. But he's physically spent. You need to concentrate your efforts on men who will benefit from them."

"I've worked wonders with men like him."

Eddie took a step closer to the doctor, who should have been intimidated if he'd been smart. "If you've rehabilitated malingerers, I congratulate you. This man is a physical wreck. He's an invalid."

"He's capable of walking."

"In time, with nurturing, he will walk again."

"With coddling? We don't have the luxury of time. Experienced officers are—"

"We're done here." Eddie nudged his friend. "Hale, get him out."

Morton grabbed Jasper's wrist. "Don't you dare touch those electrodes! They're fragile."

"Hale, that's an order," Eddie snapped.

"Yes, Sir!"

"I outrank you here, Mr. Masen."

"I suggest you take it up with Director Humphries."

"If you break my equipment, I'll take it out of your pay."

"Your only other option is to remove the electrodes yourself."

Morton shouldered Eddie and Jazz aside. He carefully collected his wires and clips. All Eddie could pay attention to was the fact that Emmett was lying in shit.

He pointed at the nurse, then at Cap. "Clean him up!"

"Of course," the nurse said.

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

Yes, I know I'm mean. I know you've waited forever. Sorry, it's been nuts around here. Surgery for my daughter, appointments for everyone, a planned angioplasty for my son, and a terminally ill BiL. Plus, I've published a short story and it became a bestseller on Amazon. Oh, and I've sent Part One of _Cats & Dogs_ to my editor. Not sure when it will come out. However, it's 40K and there'll be a Part Two of similar length. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I'm so thankful for all of you. 3

i **Yob/yobbo** : a mid-19th Century British word for boy that evolved by the early 20th Century to mean a rude, noisy, aggressive youth.

ii **Corking spools** , also known as French knitting, are a simple empty thread spool with four small nails hammered into the top. Wool is wrapped around with the tail dangling down the center hole, and then a hook or fingers are used to loop the yarn over the nails. A tube of knitted yarn exits the bottom. People who aren't able to knit can often cork as it only requires dexterity in one hand and is a very simple movement. The corked tubes can then be sewn together to form hats, mittens, etc. Many kids learn to cork. During WW2, my mother remembers the neighbourhood kids sitting down to cork, and even the boys would do it. Everyone with free time and useful hands was put to work for the war effort.

iii Many cultures used animal intestine to make toy **balloons** , going back to antiquity, including the Aztecs and ancient Egyptians. Professor Michael Faraday made the first India rubber (gum) balloons in 1824 for use in his experiments with hydrogen. Pioneer rubber manufacturer Thomas Hancock introduced toy rubber balloons in 1825. The toy had to be created by the purchaser, using a bottle of rubber solution and a condensing syringe. The owner would blow up the balloon with the syringe or straw that was included. J.G. Ingram manufactured vulcanized balloons in 1847. They were the prototype of modern toy balloons. Toy and decorative balloons used plain air or hydrogen until 1931. Hydrogen balloons were exceedingly flammable and caused many injuries and fires, leading many locations to ban them. In 1931, helium replaced hydrogen.︻┳═一


	24. Chapter 24

The Itch 24:

︻┳═一

Eddie rapped upon the office door and shifted from foot to foot.

"Come in!" Harris called. Eddie wasted no time. Harris's smile fell. "What's wrong?"

"Morton gave McCarty Electroshock."

Harris stood so fast he knocked over his chair. "He did what?"

"I stopped him."

"Where's Emmett?"

"Presumably, the nurse is washing him. I've ordered Hale to carry him back to bed afterward."

"Washing him?"

"When I broke up the festivities, Cap was screaming himself hoarse and lying in his own waste."

"Shit!" Harris marched for the door and tugged Eddie's sleeve in passing. "Come with me." Harris was moving fast. Eddie bumped into a couple of patients in the crowded hallway leading to the canteen. Harris must have noticed because he returned, lifted Eddie's hand to clasp his bicep, and tugged him onward. He stopped at a door just past the canteen.

"Who is it?" A man called gruffly.

"Director Humphries, it's Dr. Harris and Lieutenant Masen."

"I have five minutes, gentlemen."

Harris led Eddie over to the massive cherry desk. "Lieutenant Masen has just informed me that Dr. Morton took my patient to Electroshock against my direct orders."

"Is this about McCarty?" Humphries held up a manila folder.

"Indeed. The patient's file clearly demonstrates that he is physically infirm and in a state of muscular atrophy. Regardless of his neurasthenia, his body is wasted. As I previously informed you, we are talking about a long term need for rehabilitation."

Director Humphries harrumphed and toyed with a file on his desk. "You advised that this man be discharged from the military." Eddie started, and stared at Harris. Evidently, they were on the same page.

"I did. His recovery is apt to be exceptionally slow in light of his psychological suffering."

"We aren't equipped for long term care." Humphries tossed the file onto his desk. He sounded weary. "He's not well enough to send back to Canada, and he has no family here. You know if the man cannot be rehabilitated in a timely fashion, he will have to be sent to a care facility or asylum."

"No," Eddie blurted out. He felt the weight of both men's gazes upon him and cleared his throat. "Pardon me. Captain McCarty and Ensign Hale have a foster family here."

"A foster family?" Harris echoed.

"Yes. The owner of the boarding house where my wife and I lodge. Mr. and Mrs. Biggins have already prepared a room for the pair to use when they are discharged."

"We are here to rehabilitate men, sir, not discharge them." Humphries snapped.

"These men aren't going to be fit to serve for a very long time, sir," Harris said.

"How long, Harris?"

Harris shifted on his feet. "A year or more, sir. They're both grossly underweight."

Humphries folded his hands on top of the file. "Do you know that a full third of the men in the British Army displayed symptoms of severe malnutrition when they enlisted? They eat better in the army than they do at home."

"Sir," Eddie said, "If one man sneezed on McCarty or Hale, neither man would survive."

"Besides, they're psychologically damaged," Harris pressed.

Humphries scoffed. "All malingerers use that excuse. These men weren't even thrown by a bomb."

"There are worse things than being thrown by a bomb," Eddie said. "McCarty and Hale attempted slow suicide, but I've gotten through to them. Both of them are eating meals on the regular."

"If you want my support, you're going to have to elaborate," Humphries said. Eddie crossed his arms and sealed his mouth, cursing himself. He couldn't see any way to get Jazz and Cap cut loose without telling the truth but the risk was enormous.

"Well?" Humphries demanded.

"Lieutenant, if you know something about what happened to those men, it does them no good to keep it to yourself," Harris said softly.

"I'm afraid," Eddie said.

"Afraid?" Harris echoed. "Have I given you just cause not to trust me?"

Eddie tapped his cane on the floor. "I know you mean well, but you told the boys about Keller and they pick on him. McCarty and Hale are good men. I don't want them put in the same boat as Keller, and I don't want them shot for dishonourable behaviour."

"Did they kill their own boys?" Harris demanded sharply.

"Not at all."

Harris and Humphries waited quietly.

"I don't want Hale and McCarty to become targets," Eddie repeated. "I understand why they did what they did. They had no choice at the time. But the boys might not forgive them, and the Brass might court-marshal them."

"Good God, man! You should have reported this information to Dr. Harris," Humphries rumbled. "What did they tell you?"

Eddie turned his head toward the light issuing from the window. "I'm not telling you anything unless it stays between the three of us. And it's off the record."

Humphries banged on his desk. "I demand that you tell me! If you do not, you'll be fired without being given a reference!"

"Then, I shall be unemployed and without a reference." Eddie bowed slightly and turned toward the door. "Good day, gentlemen. Thank you for the opportunity you gave me to serve these men. I resign."

Harris caught his arm. "Wait. Certain sins do not fall under the mantle of patient confidentiality. Murder, for instance."

"They have done no murder."

"Is it a matter of national import?"

"Certainly not. It's a matter of morality."

"Are they insane?"

"No, and what they did is unlikely to happen again, provided they aren't sent back to fight. If they go back to the front, I have no doubt they will prove a danger to themselves."

"For God's sake! Spit it out!" Humphries demanded.

"Not unless you give me your word that no one will force Hale or McCarty to go back to war. I want them honourably discharged. They've come a long way but they may never be normal."

Humphries expelled a loud breath. "Fine. I give you my word that nothing you say shall leave this room, and if, in my estimation, they're as much a danger to themselves as you believe, I shall recommend an honourable discharge for Hale and McCarty."

Eddie looked at Harris expectantly.

"You have my word that everything you say, I will keep in confidence," Harris said.

Eddie sent up a quick prayer that he wasn't making a mistake, and began softly. "Hale, McCarty, and two other men got caught behind the re-entrant for more than a week. One of the men was shot and lingered on for some days. They'd had nothing to eat for days before he died."

"Oh, God." Harris fell into a chair. "You're saying… oh, that's wretched."

"Well, they were desperate. But shortly after they resolved themselves to survival at any cost, they were rescued. The three of them stopped eating completely. Rum is probably the only thing that kept them alive. And after a month, they couldn't do anything useful. They fell prey to the shell shock and McCarty's lieutenant sent them to the field hospital."

Humphries cleared his throat. "Happened in the Crimea. Men eating men. Grandfather told me."

"But you see, the Brass doesn't exactly put cannibalism in the field manual," Eddie said drily.

"That's not even funny," Harris snapped.

"If you don't even like hearing about it, imagine the guilt borne of having partaken of your comrade's—"

"Enough," Harris groaned. "Don't tell me anymore."

"Yorkie couldn't live with it. He cursed McCarty and blew his head off in front of them."

Humphries slumped over his desk and Harris leaned back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. Eddie waited but they said nothing.

"So, you see, gentlemen, I don't want these men going back into the field. I don't care if Jasper's dancing gait disappears or Emmett starts to walk and talk again. Morton believes I'm coddling them. In my professional opinion, they need coddling."

"You are not a doctor," Humphries said.

Eddie rubbed his thumb over his reliquary ring and his memorial band. "No. I am an experienced field officer who served with valour. I trained hundreds of men in Egypt. I led sixty men in the Somme. I served for over three years in six countries on three of the nastiest front lines in human history. Do you suppose I've never encountered suicidal men before?"

"Brave men don't take their own lives," Humphries muttered.

"Oh, really? That explains how I came to be in command of a platoon at the age of seventeen."

"That's a terrible allegation to make against men who aren't here to defend themselves," Harris said.

"Why do you think our boys try to protect suicides? The allegation alone leads to ruination. Why do you think that if the men know a man who shot himself is going to be examined, they mutilate the body so the doctors believe Fritz killed him?"

"That's obscene!" Humphries growled.

"Is it?" There were several beats of silence. "Once a man's dead, he's dead. The average age of the men our king sends overseas is twenty-six. The average age in my platoon was twenty-three and the median age was twenty-one. I had my wife dictate their ages to me off the lists and we did the math. Our boys are so brave but they're barely adults and they can't handle the distress." Eddie wanted to shout but he kept himself in control. "Do you know what happens to the family of a man who takes his own life? Who shirks his duty because he can't stand the thought of taking one more order?"

"A dishonourable discharge," Harris snapped.

Eddie shook his head. "That's not the half of it. All the wife gets is a scathing letter stating that her husband was a coward, that he was derelict in his duties and if he had not died, he'd have been discharged. Men who earn a dishonourable discharge are nearly always tried and executed. There's no pension for the widow and orphans. If anyone in their social circle finds out, they're publicly ostracized. That's the only reason I didn't mutiny when the Brass told me to take my fifty-nine boys over the top to certain death. I thought of my Bella. But you see, when I signalled Lefty to blow the whistle, I never expected to outlive them. Perhaps you can tell me what might have been worse: ruining my wife and family's future, or ruining the lives of everyone who loved my men, and betraying those men by getting them senselessly killed."

"Your men gave their lives for their country. They died with honour and earned the gratitude of the king," Humphries said. "And earned a place in Heaven, too."

"They died without hope and dimmed the future of their loved ones. Of course, I'm certain they went to their graves with light hearts, knowing they'd made the king happy."

"They didn't die for aught! They took a hell of a lot of Turks and Germans with them."

"Well, at least there's one bright spot."

Harris sighed, dispelling some of the tension crackling in the air. "I've seen men whom I thought were getting better die by their own hand here."

Eddie tapped his walking stick on the floor. "Unless you wish to see two more dead, I suggest you ensure they're discharged with honour. Three men, in fact. Keller is adamant that he's not going back."

Humphries shifted his files. "The field marshal himself is putting pressure on us to rehabilitate Keller. That man is going back whether he likes it or not. They don't care about Hale, he's only a grunt, McCarty…"

Eddie dropped his gaze to the desktop, feeling the fury fry his forehead. "He'll kill himself," he growled. "He has nothing to lose. Same with Keller."

"You've barely met Keller," Harris protested.

"I know enough to know he's suffering from melancholia."

"Look," Humphries said. "We cannot refuse to treat Keller. If you believe he has melancholia we'll start giving him cannabis. Stick to the subject of McCarty and Hale." Humphries tapped his pen on the blotter. "If we declare they are not going to get better, they won't be able to stay here."

"I told you, that's not a problem. They can go to live with the Bigginses."

"But McCarty can't walk," Harris said. "He'll be a burden."

Eddie bit back an oath. Harris loved the Old Sweats but he was a civilian. He couldn't understand how much he owed veterans because he'd never seen a battlefield. "Hale will look after his physical needs. They are symbionts now. I don't believe either one of them will ever cope again without the other. When I took them to the house last Sunday, they fared much better than they do here. I believe they felt secure there. Neither one of them is going to feel safe here with Morton in the building."

"Electroshock is a wonderful thing," Humphries protested. "The use of it to reanimate limbs is experimental and Morton is a leader in his field. We've been using it for years now to replace lobotomy in cases of severely disturbed patients and epileptics. It's much more gentle—a fantastic scientific advance."[i]

"What I witnessed was not gentle. What I witnessed was one of the bravest men I know writhing in pain and screaming in terror, lying in his own shit."

"That's only because he was afraid," Humphries protested. "Research is proving that all these men need is light stimulation to their muscles. Once they know they can move, they start walking."[ii]

Eddie clenched his jaw. "That is not what I witnessed. McCarty has red marks where the electrodes were attached to his skin. And perhaps you can explain to me why there was one fastened to his cock, with a female nurse watching, since clearly he needs that working in order to perambulate!"[iii]

"Lieutenant Masen!" Humphries rose from his desk. "There is no reason to be coarse!"

Eddie tucked his chin. "My apologies, sir. I have found that I get a lot farther with the men by speaking their own cant. It's a bad habit."

Humphries was very red in the face. "I am not one of the poor bloody infantry, Lieutenant. You will demonstrate proper deference."

"Yes, Sir."

"I don't know why Morton tried to stimulate McCarty's genitalia, but he's a leader in his field. I shall ask."

"Thank you, Sir. I suggest you examine McCarty, and I suggest that the next time that barbarian experiments upon an infirm man, you take yourself down to his dungeon and witness it."

Before Humphries could respond, a slender woman knocked on the door and opened it. "Director Humphries, the man from the Home Office is here to see you."

"Kindly ask him to come in and wait. I have a matter of some urgency to address. I shall return in approximately ten minutes."

"Yes, Sir." She left. Humphries stood and placed his pen carefully in its holder.

"Take me to McCarty, gentlemen. I wish to examine him now before the marks fade."

"Thank you, Sir," Eddie said.

︻┳═一

Up in the room, Emmett was curled, unclothed, in a ball on his bed, whimpering. Although he had been bathed, he still smelled sour. He had probably vomited. Jasper sat next to him, leaning against the bars of the headboard, hugging his knees. When Eddie sat down next to Emmett on the cot, Emmett began to yell like a terrified monkey. Jasper's eyes looked black and haunted.

"Hush, it's me, Eddie."

"Good lord, what's he done?" Harris muttered to Humphries.

"He's trying to cure them!" Humphries protested. "He just wants them to be useful again."

"This man's a lot worse off than when I saw him this morning, Sir."

Emmett forced his eyes open, his breath sawing in and out. He grasped his pillow from behind his head, pushed it into Eddie's hands, and pulled on his wrists. It took Eddie a minute to figure out that Emmett wanted him to smother him. Eddie dropped the pillow to the floor and lifted Emmett into his arms.

"No," he murmured against Emmett's temple as he rocked him. "No, my dear man. You're going home."

"To Canada?" Jasper cried. Emmett wet himself. Eddie ignored the wet and pulled Jasper into the huddle.

"No, to the Bigginses. Both of you are going."

Jasper burst into hysterical tears but Em quieted.

The hospital director bent over him and spoke in a singsong tone. "Captain, I'm Dr. Humphries. I'm going to have a look at your injuries but I'm not going to hurt you, all right?"

Jasper scuttled back while Eddie repositioned Emmett in his arms so Humphries could get a look at his lower body.

"He has electrical burns," Humphries said in surprise. "Look here, there's an exit wound on his heel."

"Hm," Harris said. "That shouldn't happen."

"Blisters and welts. You're right, Masen. Morton is using more than the recommended amount of current. I promise you, he will be reprimanded."

Eddie thought Morton ought to be dismissed, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Harris, go down to Morton this instant and tell him to expect me in an hour. He's not to treat any more patients until I have addressed this matter."

"Yes, Sir."

"And send in the nurse. McCarty and Hale are going into shock. I want a pot of hot tea with plenty of sugar and three cups. Tell her to fetch an orderly to change the linens and bring three clean sets of blues."

"Right away, Sir." He marched out, his shoes clicking on the floor.

"There, there, now gentlemen." Humphries patted Jasper and Emmett on the shoulder. "You're all right now. Give me some time to complete the paperwork, and as soon as you're discharged, you can go home."

"Are we being court-marshalled?" Jasper asked shakily. Humphries patted him again.

"Of course not. You'll both retire with a pension so you can go home with Lieutenant Masen. Won't that be nice?"

"Yeah. When?" Eddie realized Jasper's teeth were chattering.

"He needs a hot blanket," Eddie said.

Humphries fetched the blanket off the other bed and wrapped it around Jasper, who was careful not to touch Eddie since it was wool. "Give me a day or two. You think you can meet with the army man to sign the paperwork?"

Emmett began to sob again. He clung to Eddie with surprising strength.

"I won't leave you, Cap. I promise."

"Turks!" he yelped.

"They're all gone. Ssh."

Humphries squeezed Eddie's shoulder companionably. "You're a fine man, Masen. I hope you will continue to work here while you pursue your medical degree."

Eddie nodded and Humphries departed. Katy arrived with a tray. Eddie stretched his jacket awkwardly over Emmett's lap. "Here, fellas, I've brought you a lovely hot cuppa and some biscuits."

"Thank you, Katy," Eddie said. "I'm going to need a cot for tonight. And I need to dictate a message to you, and ask a young lad to deliver it to my wife."

"Graham is fetching a cot. I'll be back directly with fresh pyjamas."

"Thank you."

︻┳═一

When Isobel received Eddie's note, written in Katy's hand but bearing his signature, she couldn't get to the hospital fast enough. How bad were Emmett's burns? An electrical shock could prove fatal hours afterward. From the tone of Eddie's note, the situation sounded drastic. At least she could give the men good news. Mother Biggins would be coming to visit them on the morrow.

Isobel hefted her heavy winter skirt and climbed the stairs to the officers' room with indecent haste. She found Eddie lounging on Emmett's cot. They were all wearing hospital blues. Emmett was wrapped around Eddie, and Jasper was wrapped around Emmett.

"Ye look like a litter of puppies," Isobel teased.

"Darling." Eddie sat up and reached for her. "Is that a new dress? I love it."

"No, it's old. Aunt Maggie sent mae things."

"Bless her."

"But ye willnae love it long. It's wool." Isobel didn't think Eddie would be blessing Aunt Maggie for much longer, either.

He smirked at her. "Ah, I see… you know I've had a rough day, and you show up wearing wool so I can't take advantage of you? That's not very nice."

"Shut yer gob, trouble. Aunt Maggie sent mae clothes and I was trying this on when yer message came. This skirt is one of the few things that still fits me but I'll haff to part with it because of you. I couldnae take the time to change when ye needed me here, could I?"

Eddie hummed a laugh. "Keep it to wear whenever you're mad at me. It will be the signal that no touching is allowed."

"Silly mon."

"Such a becoming red. Is it your tartan?"

"Yes." Isobel brushed her hand down the tomato red, wet skirt. "Clan McSwain."

"I thought McSwain was an Irish name."

"Irish and Scottish. It's a branch of the McQueens'." She unwrapped her shawl, shook off the rain and placed it on one of the wall hooks to dry. "Still raining. It's getting blasted cold."

"I'm starting to think that wearing a suit to work is a bad idea." Eddie tried to get up but Cap wouldn't let go of him. He settled for placing one foot on the floor and reached for Isobel with his free hand. "Come kiss me."

"Are ye no glad mae blouse is cotton?"

In answer, he hauled her down between his legs and kissed her soundly. Isobel squeaked and set both feet back on earth.

"Careful! Ye'll haff us all on the floor, Eddie." But she hugged him anyway.

"How was your day?" he asked, brushing damp wisps of hair from her forehead.

"Not the best, but we need nae discuss it noo. How's Emmett?"

The man in question released his hold on Eddie, insinuated himself between Eddie and Isobel's middles and put his head in her lap.

"Mumma?"

Jasper crept up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and placed his forehead on her back. Isobel wondered if she ought to have been scandalized but neither man seemed to mean any harm. She gazed at Eddie, who appeared at ease. She brushed her fingers through Emmett's curly hair.

"It's Bella, Cap. But Mumma is coming to see ye at dinner tomorrow. She's bringing the three of ye a hamper."

Eddie tipped up her chin. "Cap had a bit of tea with sugar but he hasn't managed anything else. A picnic sounds heavenly." He leaned in and kissed her soundly, ignoring the fact that there was a man's head cradled in their laps.

The door crashed open and a doctor pelted inside, two other men on his heels.

"Bomb!" he bellowed.[iv]

Eddie took Isobel's head in his hands and rolled off the bed, taking her with him. She landed, hard, on the floor and he fell atop her, knocking all her air out. Before she could catch her breath, Cap shouted out and fell on top of Eddie. _Crack!_ A stabbing pain pierced Isobel's ribs. Tears filled her eyes. Cap had his eyes screwed shut. Eddie was a dead weight. He'd hit his forehead on the floor and blood was trickling out of the gash. There was another thump as Jasper rolled off the other side of the bed onto the floor. It sounded very like the launch of a Minnie and Cap started yelling. Isobel turned her head and met Jasper's terrified gaze as he scooted under the bed and wrapped his arms around his head.

"Morton!" an older gentleman with whom Isobel wasn't acquainted barked. "What in blazes do you think you're doing?"

The man, Morton, pointed at Cap. "He moved on his own!"

Harris got breast to breast with Morton. "Hale pushed him off the cot. He didn't climb down himself, you moron!"

"But he moved! He's a malingerer, I'm telling you!"

Eddie blinked and shook his head. He pushed himself up and then seemed to realize Cap was pinning him down. Somehow, he managed to grasp hold of him and shift him over to lie shoulder-to-shoulder with Isobel.

Eddie lifted himself gracefully to his feet. A shiver passed through Isobel as she recognized the look on his face. There was murder in his eye.

"Doctor Morton!" the third man roared. "Your method of identifying malingerers leaves something to be desired. Go to my office and wait for me!"

"You're too soft!" Morton shouted. "You indulge these men and that's why they don't get better. What kind of man are you? Going against the war effort is treason!"

Eddie grasped Morton by the shoulder and slowly forced him to face him. H drew back his fist. Isobel covered her mouth and screamed.

"No!" Cap wailed. Eddie's fist stopped in midair.

"No, Mace. No." Tears tracked down Em's cheeks. He rolled onto his elbows and tried to get his knees under him.

Isobel saw red. She rolled to her feet and staggered, and her hand went to press against the pain stabbing her side. She stepped nimbly around Eddie and punched the man named Morton fiercely on the nose. _Crack!_ Blood spurted everywhere and he swayed backward, holding his face and howling. Isobel clutched her fist and hopped up and down. "Bugger!"

Harris and the other man dragged Morton from the room by the back of his jacket, still arguing hotly with him. A muscular orderly marched into the doorway and crossed his arms. Better late than never.

Eddie grasped hold of Isobel's wrist and lifted it. He glared at her. She tucked her chin and peeped at him, preparing to receive a royal telling-off for fighting his battles for him. Never mind that hitting a colleague would have cost him his job.

"Isobel Maire," he growled. "How many times have I told you not to tuck your thumb when you punch someone?" [v] Gently, he opened her fist. Her thumb just lay there uselessly. Eddie lifted her hand tenderly to his lips and kissed it. "Now you've broken your poor little thumb. What am I to do with you?"

"I dinnae ken. That bastard. I haff broken a rib, too." She felt light-headed. Setting her sights on the chair, she walked over and sat down woozily. Eddie knelt at her feet but continued to hold her hand above the level of her heart.

"Are you certain?"

"Aye. Evidently it's fine if you squash me, but if we add in Emmett ye become too damned heavy."

"Sorry," Cap whispered.

"Tisnae yer fault, dearie. Thot mon is a nasty bit of wark."

"Yeah."

"Och, Eddie. Ye're coming oot in hives."

"Yes, I noticed."

Katy and the man Isobel didn't know scurried into the room.

"Masen," the man said. "I'm so sorry. Morton's suspended from duty until further notice."

Jasper inched out from under the cot. "What about the bomb?"

"There is no bomb. Morton deceived you."

"Turk," Emmett said firmly.

"How can I believe you?" Jasper asked.

"I'm Director Humphries. I run this hospital. How would you like to go home tonight?"

"I would have said that was ideal," Eddie said sarcastically, "except that my wife was to nurse these men and now she's badly injured."

The director edged closer. "Injured, you say?"

"First, Cap and I fell on her and broke her rib. Then Morton's nose broke her thumb. On her good hand, too."

"Well," Humphries said, "if it's any consolation, Madam, you broke his nose."

"Thot fool is lucky thot's all I broke." Abandoning whatever was left of her decorum, she slumped against the back of the chair.

"Look, Isobel's hand is swelling," Eddie snapped. "I need her treated right away."

"We don't treat women here."

Eddie sprang to his feet and swivelled to face his boss. "Are you a doctor or not?"

"Yes, but we don't have facilities here to treat ladies. What's wrong with your face?"

Eddie enunciated every word as though Humphries were a dunce. "I'm _allergic_ to wool."

Katy ran out of the room. "I'll get some ice, Bella."

Humphries huffed at Eddie. "No. What happened to your forehead?"

"I smacked it on the floor when we hit the deck. It doesn't matter. Morton, however, has caused me and mine a great deal of trouble and I expect you to help me out by treating my wife, so I don't have to get her to another hospital by myself when Hale and McCarty need me."

Humphries dropped his gaze. "Yes. Of course. Orderly?"

"I brought the cot and linens for Lieutenant Masen, Director."

"Shame you didn't arrive a few minutes sooner."

"Sorry, Sir."

"I'll need a screen. And wipe the blood off the floor. And get Masen a basin of water."

"Yes, Sir."

"Jazz, you can come out," Eddie said. "Put Cap back to bed, will ya?"

"Yes, Sir." Jasper scrambled up and lifted Cap into his arms. He put him to bed and sat down beside him, but neither man stopped staring at Isobel the entire time.

"I'm all right, gentlemen," she said as Eddie escorted her to the freshly-made cot, but she couldn't help grunting when he accidentally touched her ribs. The orderly pulled a screen between her and the men, and Eddie began to help her out of her clothes. Katy popped behind the screen and handed her a small bag of ice.

"Shall I bring you a nightshirt?" she asked.

"Yes, please. That would be grand." Isobel abruptly realized that Eddie was sliding down her skirt. "Och, Eddie! Ye're going tae be so sore. I wish ye wouldnae—"

"Bella, it's too late anyway. Don't fret. It's not as if I have to wear it this time." He began to pick apart her busk.

"Don't undo mae corset. It will haff tae be tightwaisted."

"We must ensure that the end of your rib isn't going to perforate your lung, first," Katy said. Isobel felt woozier than ever.

By the time Director Humphries returned, she was lying neatly under the covers wearing nothing but her chemise, with the corset lying under her back so it might be tight-laced after he examined her. Eddie continued to hold her wrist perpendicular to her body. He pressed the small sack of ice into her palm.

"The ring must come off," Humphries said. "Katy, go and get something to cut it."

"No!" Isobel cried. "That's mae memorial ring! Please!"

"We'll try a bit of butter," Katy said.

Humphries gazed at Isobel as though she had no common sense. "But if it doesn't work, it will have to be cut."

"We cannae cut it! Please, Eddie!"

He kissed her fingers. "I can buy you a new ring, but I cannot get you new fingers."

"Och, Eddie."

"Hush, now. Dr. Humphries is going to think you're hysterical."

"I know a fellow who's very good at treating hysteria, if you need a reference," Humphries told Eddie casually as he prepared a plaster.

"Isobel is never hysterical, thank you."

"You're a fortunate man, then. My wife is a frequent sufferer. I send her for treatment every two weeks."

Eddie's eyes flared wide. He looked as if he were about to swallow his tongue. "Fascinating," he managed to get out. Despite her best effort to contain a laugh, Isobel began to giggle. "Ow!" she said. "Ooh, ow!"

"What's so funny?" Humphries asked.

"Nothing," Isobel said. Katy brought in a little dish. She began to smear butter on Isobel's swollen fingers.

"Bella's an army nurse," Eddie told his boss. "Not much provokes her to hysterics." Isobel screwed her eyes shut. She couldn't wait to get somewhere suitable to release her laughter like a hyena. Fancy the hospital director sending his wife for biweekly clitoral stimulation. Did he comprehend the service for which he was paying? Good lord. She couldn't wait to snicker about it with Eddie.

Katy slipped the memorial ring from Isobel's finger. "That's that, Missus."

"Thank ye sae much, Katy."

"You're welcome. Where shall I put it?"

"I suppose the safest place is on mae other hand."

"Of course."

While Katy slipped Bella's memorial ring onto her left hand, Humphries stretched out her thumb.[vi]

Despite preparing herself, Bella cried out.

"It's all right now." Humphries placed a small wooden splint along Isobel's thumb and began to wrap it. Once he had it bound, he brought it to rest beside her index finger, wrapped them together, and carefully tied off the bandages. Then, he gingerly took small strips of gauze coated in plaster from Katy's fingers and built Isobel a cast. It looked rather silly; large and unwieldy. The doctor then lay her hand down on the cot. "All right, keep that still for a few minutes until it's dry." After wiping his fingers, he pulled down the blankets enough to access Isobel's ribs. "Where does it hurt?"

She poked at the area. "I think it iss thae seventh vertobrochondral."

The doctor reached out. "May I?"

"You may."

He placed his hand against her chemise, over her ribcage, and counted up from the bottom. Then, he began to palpate her ribs gently. Isobel kept her breaths shallow. "You're quite accomplished for a woman, Madam. Yes, it's broken, right where it meets the costal cartilage. Fortunately, it's a clean break. No fragments or sharp ends."

"That's a blessing," Eddie said.

"Indeed." Humphries looked at Katy. "Can you help Mrs. Masen with her corset? The upper part must be tight, but the bottom not so tight as to pull in the false ribs toward the waist."

"Yes, of course, Sir."

"Excellent." He gave Isobel a small pat on the shoulder. "Get some rest, Madam. I shall send you up some cannabis."

Isobel wrinkled her nose, but thanked him anyway.

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

* * *

[i] Compared to lobotomy, it was a fantastic advance. Patients who were lobotomized became vegetables. Patients receiving shock to the head became compliant, forgetful and calm. Electric shocks used to stimulate muscles were, of course, much milder once they figured out how much current to use. Muscular electroshock became quite the thing. By the end of the Edwardian era, a man could even buy sort of a metal belted contraption to wear under his clothes, to zap his penis, in order to restore lost virility.

[ii] In 1915, French doctors established a school of **forward psychology** in which shell shocked patients were treated with ether, chloroform and/or electricity. In 1917, **shell shock hospitals** were established in Britain and elsewhere. Severely psychologically ill British sufferers were sent to an asylum in Edinburgh. By 1918, there was a very successful rehabilitation program led by French doctors. However, by 1922 the anesthetic/electroshock treatment was replaced with Freudian psychoanalysis. Men who faced their traumas often recovered from their physical symptoms. However, reports to that effect, made in 1922, were largely ignored and it wasn't until 1940 that the term **combat fatigue** was brought into use. In WWII, doctors attempted to treat it with barbiturates but by 1945 doctors went back to the more effective psychological treatments used in 1918. **Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder** wasn't coined until 1980. The chief treatments now are Cognitive Behavioural Therapy and sometimes antidepressants.

[iii] Early medical experiments often went awry. Doctors experimented on patients in ways that are forbidden now. A doctor could get away with doing a lot of horrible things in the name of medical advancement. This character is not representative of any real person. He's nasty though, isn't he!

[iv] Doctors at mental hospitals actually did this as a way to determine who was truly suffering from shell shock and who was pretending. They might run in and yell, "Bomb," or they might say the word quietly in the middle of a banal conversation. There are videos online showing men hit the floor and hide under their beds.

[v] My grandfather ensured that I learned and remembered that you never tuck your thumb when you punch somebody. I don't think I ever had use for that nugget, but I appreciated the lesson.

[vi] When a bone is broken, the muscles and ligaments shorten and don't allow the bone to go back into its proper position. To set broken bones straight, it's necessary to stretch the ligaments. Small bones only require one person to set them, but large bones might need two or three people to set them. This was especially true before the advent of anesthetics. By the 20th Century, licensed physicians were the only ones allowed to set bones. Before that, broken bones were usually set by a person with some talent for it: either a self-proclaimed bonesetter, or the local blacksmith.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

︻┳═一

Wednesday, October 11, 1916 (cont'd)

︻┳═一

"This is good stuff," Bella said, taking a deep draw on her cannabis cigarette. Her brogue thickened under the influence. Eddie inhaled what she exhaled, and began to laugh. He was the only person in the room who wasn't smoking, but he considered himself equally intoxicated.

"Don't get used to it." He drew her breath into his mouth and his eyes rolled back. "Mmm… we have an odd life."

"Who doesn't?"

"My mother."

"Yer mammy's been looking for ye for four years. That's nae normal, love."

"My ma thinks it's a good time to take you to Paris." He slid down next to her on the cot, taking care not to lean on her ribs.

Bella snorted in the most adorable way as she flicked ash into the tin resting on her belly. "She and mae auntie are in league," she growled. "With the devil."

"Eh?" Eddie propped himself back on an elbow and peered at her. She lifted the hand bearing the cigarette to Eddie's hair and brushed the forelock out of his eyes. He stole the stub before she could set his hair on fire, took a last draw on it and dropped it into the tin.

Bella stroked her fingers affectionately through his hair. "Ach, mae love, I'm sae sorry for calling yer lovely mam a witch."

"I should hope so. But why did you?" Eddie confiscated the tin and set it under the bed with exaggerated care.

Bella looked both ways and whispered, "Mae auntie's one."

"Honest?" Nose-to-nose, he looked into her eyes. "Does she hex people?"

"No-o-o. Not that kind o' witch. The kind that begins with a bee."

Eddie blinked and tried to put that together. It didn't make much sense. "A witch and a bee. Bee… witched."

"That's nae it."

"Why don't you just spit it out, then?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "I haff done enough swearing today."

"Ohh… a bitch." He nodded solemnly. "Why is Auntie Maggie a bitch, Bella?"

Her large dark eyes turned lustrous with tears. "She's taken it into her heid that you and I are nae married."

"Really." Now, that wasn't exactly a problem. "We'll have to prove it to her."

"Thae certificate is in thon office in Ypres. Cullen's. Or maybe in the kirk, which is probably burned out by noo."

Eddie gave the matter careful consideration and came to one conclusion. "There's only one thing to be done."

She shook her head solemnly. "We're neffer gang back."

"Of course not." Flipping back the blankets, he freed himself and reached for her clit.

"What are ye doing?" She sounded astonished.

"We need a baby."

"Aw, shit," Jazz groaned from the other side of the room. "Not this, Mace. Anything but this."

Eddie ignored him in favour of pleasing his wife. But she kept trying to stop his hand. Why would she do that?

"Tisnae proper, Eddie! Yon fellows—"

"But Humphries is worried you might have hysteria," he crooned against her jaw. She threw her arms around him and cackled.

"Do ye think he knows he's paying a mon to gie his wife orgasms?" The pair of them laughed so hard they shook the cot.

"I very much doubt it," he said conspiratorially. "I don't think Humphries is the type of man who'd know any better if his little woman didn't—"

"Aw, hell!" Jasper's voice, which was much too close for comfort, made Eddie jump. Jazz grasped Eddie by the back of his clothes. The next thing Eddie knew, he was being set on his feet on the other side of the privacy screen.

"Hey!"

Jazz was hiding his eyes behind his hand. "Do us all a favour and save it 'til you're home, will ya?"

Eddie felt his forehead wrinkle up. "That's never stopped us before."

"I've noticed." Jazz peeked out from behind his hand, and then hid his eyes again. "Jeez, Louise, Mace. Holster the weapon. Please."

"But—"

"You'll regret it in the morning. Anybody could come in here. Humphries… Katy… a couple of dozen PBIs…"

"Shit." Swiping back his hair, Eddie tucked himself away and began to totter back to Bella.

"Where are you going?"

"To sleep."

"Nuh-uh," Jazz grasped his shoulder and steered him toward his own cot. "You're not behaving appropriately."

"I'm not?" Eddie gazed at his friend amiably. Jasper was such a good fellow. Such a mother hen to his mates.

"No. Obviously, you cannot hold your cannabis." He gave Eddie a push that tipped him onto the cot. "Nighty-night, Mace."

"Hey, it's dark outside."

"Yep. Go to sleep."

︻┳═一

Thursday, October 12, 1916

︻┳═一

A soft footfall sounded in the darkness. Eddie opened his eyes and discovered a wavering, golden orb of light, which moved erratically toward the screen separating Bella from the rest of the room. He wondered for a moment if it were Tinkerbell paying a visit, but dismissed the childish fancy.[i]

"Katy?" he murmured.

"Just checking on Bella, Lieutenant. Go back to sleep. You'll have a busy day ahead of you."

"All right." When he next awoke, it was indecently late and the room was bustling with people. He sat up, his hands pressed to his eyes, and absentmindedly rubbed his hand over his arm. The hives were much better but those remaining flared with a sting that called to him to scratch. His eyes were scratchy, too. He'd need help to do the required eyewash treatment.

"Sign here," Humphries said, bent over Jazz.

"Hold it!" Eddie snapped.

"Excuse me?" Humphries sounded shocked and Eddie tried not to cringe.

"Sorry, Sir. I was talking to Jasper, not to you. What's he signing?"

"His discharge papers. Standard stuff."

"Have you read it, Jazz?"

"I…"

Why did he hesitate to answer? "Read it before you sign."

"I… There's stuff in here I can't… I have…"

"Can you read?" Eddie tried to suppress his irrational frustration. Many men couldn't read at levels beyond the second grade.

"I can, it's just that some of the words don't make sense to me."

"Too legalistic?" Eddie asked.

"No. I have… congenital word blindness."[ii]

Humphries turned to Harris. "Dyslexia. It's caused by visual processing deficiencies. You ought to add it into his discharge report."

"Yes, sir." Without adieu, Harris exited the room, report in hand.

"I should like to hear the contents of the discharge papers before Hale and McCarty sign them, please," Eddie said.

"I don't really have time to read them to you, Lieutenant," Humphries said, "and as we have established, Hale and McCarty are unable to read the papers aloud to you themselves. You can trust me to—"

"Sir, it isn't you I don't trust, it's the Army. Bella?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, my darling, but could you possibly read McCarty and Hale's papers to me?"

"Of course. Just gie me a moment."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"Ye're most welcome."

A brisk knock touched upon the already-open door and a short dark form poked its head inside. "Good morning, my loves," Mother Biggins sang as she marched in, Papa Biggins on her heels. "I said to Papa, I thought we'd best come straightaway as our Bella didn't return last night."

"Mumma!" Emmett yelped, "Turks!" just as Eddie said, "Thank God. Papa Biggins, can you read Jasper and Emmett's discharge papers to me?"

"I'll leave you to it," Humphries said, passing two stacks of paperwork to Eddie. "Don't be long. I have to meet Lieutenant Ashby, the military policeman, in half an hour."

"Yes, Sir." Eddie hadn't forgotten Ashby from his own encounter. "Does Emmett have to see him?"

"No." Humphries left abruptly.

"What on earth's the matter?" Mama Biggins tut-tutted as Emmett dragged her down into a hug.

"I must speak with both of you," Eddie said, searching for his clothes to no avail. He caught the papers as they began to slide toward the floor.

"Where's Bella?" Papa Biggins wanted to know, collecting the papers from Eddie's lap. "And why are you in hospital?"

"I'm here," Bella called from behind the screen. A quiet groan betrayed that she was still in pain.

"I'm fine," Eddie said, "but they've taken my clothes somewhere for laundering. Bella, on the other hand, is badly hurt."

"It's nae that bad, ye silly mon."

Eddie shut his eyes. "Dr. Morton yelled that we were under attack and Cap and I knocked her down, squashed her and broke her ribs. And then she hit him and busted her thumb."

"Can you repeat that?" Mama Biggins demanded.

"Forgive me, but time is of the essence. I know it's going to be rough, but I need to get these men out of here as soon as possible."

"Of course, whatever you need," Mama Biggins said immediately. Eddie was grateful that he didn't need to waste time explaining.

"Thank you, Mother. Papa Biggins, I need you to read me every word of Jasper and Emmett's discharge papers before Humphries returns. He's very anxious to have them sign it. I need to know if everything's Jake before Ashby shows up. The Army wants Cap back awfully badly and Ashby is a real hardnose."[iii]

"Turks," Emmett sighed.

Papa Biggins pulled a chair close to Eddie's cot and began to recite the words on Jasper's papers in a clear, strong voice. " 'To Whom It May Concern: Private Jasper Emmerson Hale, weight 120 pounds, height 6'2", chest 31", eyes blue, hair flaxen, enlisted in Toronto in the Canadian Infantry in March of 1914 under Captain Emmett McCarty and served with distinction at St. Julien in April of 1915, where he assisted in the detainment of four German prisoners. He served at the Ypres Salient from May of 1915 to March of 1916, at which time he was promoted to Ensign. Ensign Hale fought in several battles at the Somme up until his disablement in September of 1916, when he acquired a nervous disorder behind the salient at Pozières. Ensign Hale, the Canadian Army thanks you for your service."

"What are they offering him for retirement?" Eddie demanded.

"Let me see here… a lifetime pension of three shillings a week, a retirement dispensation of five pounds for his two years of service, and a twenty-five pound gratuity for permanent disability."

"Take it," Eddie urged.

Papa Biggins returned the papers to Jazz and showed him where to sign. While Jazz scribbled his signature, Papa Biggins collected Emmett's papers and resumed his seat. " 'To Whom It May Concern: First Lieutenant Emmett Wallace McCarty, weight 165 pounds, height 6'2", chest 36", eyes brown, hair dark brown, received a commission in Toronto from the British-Canadian Infantry in December of 1905 under Captain Robert Jennings. He has, in wartime and at peace, served with exemplary distinction and earned the rank of captain in consequence of valour. In August of 1914, Captain McCarty took command of 60 men and led them overseas, where they battled alongside French and British troops in various locations including Neuve Chappelle in March of 1915, and St. Julien in April of 1915. He subsequently served at the Ypres Salient from May of 1915 to March of 1916, and in the Somme from April of 1916 to August of 1916, where he went Missing in Action. One month later, he was found in Pozières and diagnosed with neurasthenia.' "

Eddie noted that Emmett's service record was much more detailed than Jasper's. That wasn't surprising. Papa Biggins flipped over to the next page and continued to read.

" 'Captain McCarty, based on your magnificent service record, the Canadian Army orders your transfer to the Scottish Hospital for the Shell Shocked in Edinburgh in hopes that your rehabilitation and return to duty will be swift. Thank you for your valiant—' "

"No," Eddie growled as Emmett gagged and threw himself toward his bedside table. The drawer crashed to the floor, glass and personal objects rattling and spilling out, as Emmett grasped something shiny. "No! Stop him!" Eddie shouted as Papa Biggins and Jasper converged on Emmett. Mama Biggins began to boo hoo. Eddie held his breath as men shouted and fought. After several seconds, Papa Biggins liberated a straight razor from Emmett's clutches and threw it into the corner while Jasper held his captain down. Eddie joined the dogpile. After straightening Emmett's legs, he peered over Jasper's head and glared at his commander.

"Stop it. You're upsetting the ladies. Mama Biggins has lost one son already."

"Mumma," Emmett wailed. His glassy eyes rolled backward and he began to convulse.

"Doctor!" Eddie shouted at the top of his lungs. "Doctor!"

︻┳═一

Eddie paced, arms crossed, in front of Harris's desk. He was too angry to worry about the fact he was still dressed in hospital blues. Bella sat quietly in the chair Eddie generally used. She was pale and wan, and clad in a hospital dressing gown, but he still wanted her there to read anything the administrators might show him. Harris entered the room and locked the door behind him.

"He's sedated now."

"This is an outrage!"

"Hold your horses." Harris set his stethoscope on his desk. "He's going home."

"But—"

"No question of it." Harris leaned against his desk and sighed. "I hope it's only nerves, but…"

"But what?"

"His heart is bad."

Eddie felt as though the floor had dropped out from under him. "What?"

"Some men, _most_ men, acquire the diagnosis of neurasthenia because they present with tachychardia that lasts past the moment of danger."[iv]

"What's that?" Eddie asked.

"Tachychardia is a fast-beating of the heart. It's generally benign."

"Anyone on a battlefield is going to present with it," Bella added. "It can be caused by anxiety."

"It can also be a pre-existing condition that causes anxiety. When it lasts a long time, we call it Soldier's Heart Syndrome."

A heart syndrome? That didn't sound good. "And Emmett has that?"

"Well, I hope so."

Eddie felt his forehead crease. "You _hope_ so?"

"I picked up a murmur. It may be temporary, but…"

"Oh, no."

"I checked his records and there's no mention of it. It's a moderate murmur so it could be the sign of something serious. In the long term, probably not right away."

"Tell me everything."

"He may have valvular disease, which is secondary to rheumatic heart disease. Do you know if he's ever had rheumatic fever?"[v]

Eddie shook his head. "My own sister died of scarlet fever. It's related, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry to hear that. Yes, rheumatic fever is a consequence of scarlet fever. I know it's pandemic in the Infantry. Since he's never taken hospital leave, hopefully he's avoided the infection." Harris stood. "As I said, Emmett's murmur may be nothing. It may just be temporary. A symptom of panic. But we're going to use it anyway."

"Thank you. You will tell Emmett it's nothing to worry about , right?"

"No. But you will. Go now, before Ashby shows up."

"Yes, Sir!"

︻┳═一

Lieutenant Ashby glared down at Emmett, who was swaddled in hot blankets in his cot and mostly insensible to the goings-on. "Do you concur with this diagnosis, Director?"

Humphries shifted uneasily and brushed up against Eddie's sleeve. "I'm sorry to say it, but the man has a moderately severe heart murmur. He cannot be trusted to perform adequately in battle." He did not say that Emmett could drop dead in the middle of shouting orders, but he didn't need to.

"And why did you not bring this up when I met with you to discuss his rehabilitation?" Ashby snapped.

"Many men have heart murmurs and suffer no harm, Lieutenant, but if this man had a murmur when I last examined him, I missed it. One cannot miss it now; it's perfectly distinct. You can listen to it yourself, if you wish."

"I do wish."

Humphries arranged his stethoscope on Emmett's chest and listened, then angled the metal earpieces toward Ashby. "It's a murmur in systole. _Ba-da bump, ba-da bump_. Do you hear it?"

Ashby sighed and straightened. "I will have to write up a letter of discharge. May I use your office?"

"Use mine," Harris said cheerfully. "How long do you need?"

"Twenty minutes."

Half an hour later, Eddie was leaning over Emmett holding a clipboard. "Sign this, Cap, and then we can go home." Emmett didn't open his eyes. "Emmett." Eddie gave him a nudge. "This is your honourable discharge letter. Sign it." He placed a pen in Emmett's hand and felt his fingers curl around it.

"If he can't sign off, we can't discharge him," Humphries said softly.

"Sign it, Emmett. Trust me. Do it now."

Emmett opened his eyes and scrawled his name across the page. Eddie hoped to God that the signature was close enough to the dotted line to count.

Harris tapped the paper. "Now initial here and here." Emmett's hand moved across the page. "Good enough," Harris said, and turned to Eddie. "He's not going to trust anyone but you now. This place is bad for him. How soon can you get him out?"

"How soon will my clothes be back from the laundry?"

Harris rang the bell and Katy hurried in. "Yes, Doctor?"

"Is last night's laundry back yet?"

"Not yet, Sir, but I expect it within the hour."

"Kindly bring Lieutenant Masen's clothes as soon as possible."

"Yes, Doctor."

"And help Mrs. Masen to dress. I will prepare some prescriptions and the hospital discharge papers now. Please ensure that the medications are dispensed before these patients leave the hospital."

"Yes, Doctor."

︻┳═一

The Bigginses were waiting patiently in the lobby for Bella and Eddie. "What news?" Mama Biggins asked, wringing her hands. Eddie pushed back his hair.

"I don't know why, but Harris is nervous about Emmett's continued presence here. He says it's due to Emmett's anxiety but he kept glancing toward the door. I know it's going to be difficult to care for Em while Bella's incapacitated, but the Brass has threatened to send him to Edinburgh for treatment."

"What kind of treatment?" Papa Biggins asked.

"Probably more electroshock."

"That's a good thing, isn't it? Might help him."

Eddie shook his head. "It's barbaric. He has burns all over."

"It isnae meant to leave marks," Bella said. "Thon doctor electrocuted him."

"Oh, dear," Papa Biggins said.

"Should we go home and bring the boys some mufties, Eddie?" Mama Biggins asked.

"No time. I want to pack up their kit and move out. We only need wait for the prescriptions and the discharge papers."

Behind Eddie, Harris's door swung open. Harris waved a paper. "Eddie, take these with you. They're all discharged."

"Thank you." Eddie took the papers and turned to go, but Harris caught him by the arm.

"From the hospital, not the Army. Take Emmett now, even if it means you must return for the prescriptions."

"What's wrong?"

"Out of sight, out of mind."

"Pardon?"

"Morton's kicking up a fuss. Wants another crack at him. And Ashby's due back to collect the papers at eleven. I want Emmett and Ashby gone before Morton notices."

"That's in… ten minutes!" Papa Biggins boomed.

"When do you expect me back at work?" Eddie asked.

"We'll discuss it tomorrow. Go."

"Mama Biggins, please wait here with Bella." Eddie removed his wife's hand from his arm and passed her into the care of their friend. Then he raced up the stairs with Papa Biggins on his heels, and burst into the officers' room. "Imshee!"[vi] He snatched up Em's kit and began to stuff his small possessions inside. Jasper scrambled to his feet and emptied his own drawer into the bag.

"What's up?"

"Lock and load. We need to be out of this building in two minutes."

"Shit." Jazz scrambled into his boots.

"Incoming. We need to get Cap downstairs now."

"He's out cold. I'll carry him. Bring what you can." Jazz lifted Emmett into a fireman's carry. Em didn't stir.

Katy's heels clicked across the floor. "I have your clothes, Lieutenant."

"No time. I'll send a boy tomorrow." Eddie tossed Bella's tartan shawl at Cap and Jazz, and hefted both men's knapsacks. Although at least thirty pounds lighter without ammo, each pack was still a substantial weight.

Katy shoved a small sack against Eddie's chest. "Prescriptions." She poked her head out the door. "The coast is clear."[vii]

"Go!" Eddie said. He and Jazz hurried down the grand staircase and scuttled across the foyer.

"What's up, Lieutenant?" Private Marshall called from his place on the couch.

"You haven't seen us!"

"Righty-o, mate."

Papa Biggins liberated one of the packs from Eddie and their party ran outside. Amazingly, a taxicab was waiting at the foot of the hospital steps.

"Cab for Biggins?" the driver asked cheerfully. Jazz practically fell into the back with Emmett. The Bigginses piled in after them. Eddie passed Jasper the pack he was carrying.

"God bless Harris." Eddie sat and pulled Bella down onto his lap. Her skirt, and that of Mama Biggins, blanketed the legs of all four men. "Twenty-seven Market Street, on the double!" The cab screeched away from the curb.

"Am I aiding an escape?" the driver asked with a toothy grin.

"For all intents and purposes," Eddie admitted. "Any sign of them, men?"

"I dinnae see anyone follow us out, Eddie," Bella said.

"Don't tell anyone you picked us up," Eddie cautioned the driver. "There's a mad doctor in there. Burned my patient. Gave no respect to this poor Old Sweat despite his heroic service."

"Good lord! Where yer taking him, then?"

"Home with me."

"I'll have yer home in a jiffy, gov. Yer can count on me to keep quiet."[viii]

"Good. Fast as you dare."

︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一 ︻┳═一

* * *

[i] **Peter Pan** first appeared as an infant in J.M. Barrie's book _The Little White Bird_ in 1902. His publisher extracted those chapters and sold them as a short story, _The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up_ , in 1904. Barrie turned the story into a full length novel called _Peter Pan and Wendy_ in 1911.

[ii] Neurologist Adolph Kussmaul coined the term **word blindness** in 1878. In 1887, opthamologist Rudolph Berlin coined the name and definition of **dyslexia.** The condition was informally called **congenital word blindness.** It would not be until 1925 that neurologist Samuel Orton would identify a reasonable cause and course of treatment for dyslexia. Many of the methods of Berlin and Orton are still in use today.

[iii] **Hard-nose(d):** From 1885-90 this expression was used to indicate a person who was stubborn, intractable and rigid. Often, it was used to describe a person who was down-to-earth and was therefore complimentary. By 1927, it was commonly used in comparison to a hard-shelled bomb or soft-shelled bullet and the meaning gradually migrated to mean a person who was tough and relentless. Still currently in use, the term may be applied to things as well as people, eg- 'a hard-nosed report'. In such cases, it means a _severe, practical, harshly realistic_ assessment.

[iv] **Tachycardia** is an irregular, rapid heartbeat. Anxiety can occur secondary to tachycardia because it is very unpleasant to feel the heart beating rapidly. Conversely, tachychardia can occur as a result of anxiety.

[v] **Valvular heart disease** : a form of cardiac disease in which the back pressure behind a narrowed valve can cause the atrium to dilate. This would trigger episodes of tachycardia.

Often, men with **heart murmurs** were accepted into the military as doctors didn't know any better. A heart murmur could well be benign, but few doctors were skilled enough to identify murmurs that indicated congenital defects or a build-up of plaque. Before the 1950s, there was no such thing as a "heart attack." People who died from them were reported to have suffered "sudden death."

 **Rheumatic fever** is an inflammatory disease that can develop as a complication of inadequately treated strep throat or scarlet fever. Heart disease, a by-product of rheumatic fever, could kill someone very quickly before the advent of antibiotics.

 **Strep throat** and **scarlet fever** are caused by an infection of streptococcus bacteria. During this era, there were no antibiotics so many people died of strep infections. My own grandmother contracted scarlet fever during her childhood, and although she survived, her parents burned all her possessions, including bedding, clothing and toys, to eliminate the infection from spreading.

[vi] **Imshee** : Go away, to go away, to make go away.

[vii] **The coast is clear** : This expression was first documented and dated to Shakespeare's Henry VI, Act I, in 1591:

 _ **MAYOR:**_  
 _See_ ** _the coast clear_** _and then we will depart._  
 _[Aside] Good God, these nobles should such stomachs bear!_  
 _I myself fight not once in forty year._

[viii] **Jiffy:** a _moment_. First documented in 1785 as thieves' cant for the speed of lightning. Adopted 100 years later as the official, scientific speed it takes for light to travel 1 cm.

︻┳═一

Well, it's been a long month. Anthony's brother passed away just before Christmas. Frank was 53 and left behind a wife, two sons and a daughter. We had my M-i-L with us for ten days so she wasn't alone. Everything went smoothly. Now I must pick up where I left off. I'll be postponing the release of _Cats & Dogs_ I as I have not done my second edit. We're all okay here. Hopefully, 2017 will give us a break. Happy New Year, my friends. May God grant us courage, wisdom and serenity.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26:

 **︻** **一**

 **Never Again**

 **︻** **一**

 **I desperately wanted to have this chapter to you in time for the 100** **th** **Anniversary of the Battle of Vimy Ridge, which took place last Sunday, April 9** **th** **, 2017. It's a bit late. But we will remember them.**

 **The Canadian Corps, which included soldiers from all over Canada, fought united for the first time at the four day Battle of Vimy. The ridge was a major objective in the offensive, but other allied armies had been unable to take it. Canada did. Our soldiers won the battle, but at great cost. 3598 men died and 7000 more were wounded. It was the single bloodiest battle in Canadian history.**

 **It marked the birth of Canada as a distinct nation and a legacy of Canada becoming a nation dedicated to peace. One might say the soul of Canada emerged at Vimy Ridge.**

 **God bless all those who put the welfare of others above their own lives. This past Sunday, thousands of Canadians, French, and international leaders gathered at the Monument in Vimy, where a pair of black combat boots was placed on the ground to represent every fallen soldier.**

" _ **Those spires stand for peace and for freedom," Gov. Gen. David Johnston said, indicating the white towers of the Canadian National Vimy Memorial behind him.**_

" _ **They stand for justice and hope. And they remind us that one cannot exist without the other. Without freedom, there can be no peace. Because freedom without peace is agony, and peace without freedom is slavery."**_

︻┳═一

Thursday, October 11, cont'd

︻┳═一

Mama Biggins hurried to the back of the house. "I'll light the fire. It will take a while to warm their room."

Isobel turned to Eddie. "Em should haff a hot seaweed bath.i Best thing for him."

"I'll walk down to the beach and see if I can find some." Eddie whistled for Private Barker. There was no excited clicking of nails upon the floor. "Oh, damn."

"We left him at the hospital," Isobel said blankly. Eddie shook his head.

"He'll be fine there. The boys will look after him until I can fetch him home tomorrow."

"He'll probably eat better there than he will here."

"Pardon my interruption," Jasper said, "but Cap is rather heavy."

"Put him on the settee in the parlour," Papa Biggins ordered.

"Not to be indelicate, sir, but I don't wish to ruin Mama's upholstery."

"Ah, good thinking. I'll fetch an old quilt to put under him."

"Okay."

Papa Biggins left their group to find one.

"I'll go get the seaweed," Eddie said, handing Isobel the sack of prescriptions and the bundle of paperwork.

"Are ye sure ye'll be okay on yer own?" Isobel asked. "Ye've left your cane behind, as well."

"I'll walk down to the pub and conscript a boy into service."

"Grand."

Jasper carried his captain into the sitting room and lowered him from his shoulders while Isobel pulled an armchair closer to the fire and placed a quilt upon it. Jasper sat in it and held Emmett on his lap. Emmett appeared frighteningly waxy.

"What did they use to sedate him, do ye ken?" Isobel asked.

"Chloroform."ii

She straightened abruptly and the muscles on her ribs clutched and stabbed. "Chloroform? He shouldnae still be out. Are ye certain?"

"Yes. He vomited when they held the rag over his face."

"Thank God he didnae choke." Isobel took Emmett's face in her hands. He had red marks around his lips. The drug could be terribly caustic. She checked his pulse and found it steady. His eyes were rolled back in his head. "Chloroform can be hard on the heart. It wasnae a good thing tae use on him."

"Oh, no."

She peeled back Emmett's lips. The colour of his gums was good. "He seems fine but it's verra odd he's unconscious." Sitting down, she pushed a lock of her hair back under its pin. "They took a risk by giving him that much. It's a wonder they spared it."

"They didn't want him to find a way to top himself." Jasper watched Emmett intently. "I don't know what I'll do if he goes west."

"He'll be all right once he knows he isnae going back tae war."

"I hope so. He looks awful."

"Nothing a good dose of freedom willnae cure."

"Agreed."

Isobel opened the sack and withdrew three small tins of pills. Two had her name on them, and the other was for Emmett. She sighed.

"Well, I willnae be taking this one."

"What'd Harris give you?"

"The aspirin's all right, but the other tin contains diamorphine lozenges."

"You'd be okay to use them for a couple of days, just to take the worst of the pain off, wouldn't you?"

"I'm nae going tae count on that. I've seen many men become addicted after the first dose."

"Hm. So you don't take morphine or heroin when you're ill?"

Isobel shook her head. "My mam had faith in the auld folk remedies, nae medicinal cures. For some infections, such as consumption and tuberculosis, they're necessary, and we definitely are thankful for morphine, heroin and cocaine in base hospitals, but for everyday use? I'd recommend avoiding any drug that contains them." She placed the aspirin in the pocket of her skirt and placed the heroin tablets back in the bag. Eddie could return the tin to Dr. Harris the next time he saw him. She picked up Emmett's prescription and read the label.

"Well, here's a happy surprise."

"What's that?" Jasper asked.

"I was afraid Harris would prescribe morphine for Emmett, but he's quite the modern doctor. He's given him potassium bromine."

"That's used for epileptics, isn't it?"

"Bravo. It's a useful sedative that's distilled from seaweed, actually. I was worried I'd haff tae distill mae own. It's much safer than morphine although it still has a few side effects Em won't like."

"Like what?"

"It may make him care about things less. He willnae be so emotional."

"That sounds pretty good right now. Can I have some?"

"He'll be impotent."

"Permanently?" Jasper yelped.

"No, just while he's on it."

Jasper's shoulders sagged. "Oh." He cleared his throat and glanced at her and away. "I don't want any after all."

She hid her smile. "I'll bet. Hopefully, Emmett willnae haff tae be on it verra long."

It wasn't long before they heard Eddie's voice in the front hall, followed by a small child's high-pitched, enthusiastic, "Thanks, gov!" Isobel rose from her seat and hurried into the hall.

Eddie handed her a flour sack full of seaweed. "It's dry. I hope that's okay. I didn't want to get water all over Mama Biggins's floors."

"That was a good thought. It will easily be wet again." She stuck her head into the parlour. "Jasper, I'll run the tub for Emmett now. Bring him up in ten minutes, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

Isobel washed the seaweed in the sink as she waited for the tub to fill. A bath sounded divine but she didn't want to impose on Mama Biggins's water bill. Besides, she'd have to wear her corset and water would damage it. And speaking of damage, she had a responsibility to change out of her tartan skirt before her husband developed any more hives. Exiting the lavatory, she nearly bumped into Mama Biggins.

"Papa and I have made up the beds."

"Thank ye sae much. Would ye mind helping me out of mae skirt?"

"Not at all, my dear. You should put on your nightgown."

Isobel held open the door to her lodgings so Mama Biggins might enter. Eddie was resting in his chair by the window, enjoying one of his Rothman's. "No, I'll be needing tae tend Emmett," she answered.

"I can do that," Mama Biggins said. "And I imagine Jasper and Eddie…"

"Ye'll all be a great help. But I'll haff tae examine Emmett and tell ye what to look for."

"Bella." Eddie flicked ash into his tin, then took another long draw. "Emmett has burns everywhere. That dreadful doctor. I think he was running experiments on him. When we removed Cap from the electroshock machine, he had pinch clips with wires attached to his masculine parts."

Isobel leaned against the foot of the bed for support. "The barbarian!"

"Indeed." Eddie turned his body to face the window, crossed his legs and closed his eyes.

"Were there marks on him, Eddie?" Pushing upright, she indicated the ties and buttons on the skirt that Mama Biggins should undo.

"Yes. I hate to say it, but you're going to have to examine him."

"Gracious," Mama Biggins murmured.

"Ye willnae mind?"

"Of course not." Eddie took another cigarette from his box and lit it from the stub of his first. "You're a nurse, Bella. I know it doesn't mean anything. But he won't like it. Jasper won't either."

She turned to Mama Biggins. "I'm wearing three petticoats but I only need one."

"Of course, dearie. Just let me get my old fingers in the knot. Ah, there we go."

Isobel's extra layers swished to the floor. She stepped aside so Mama Biggins could pick them up. "Perhaps ye can supervise from the doorway, Eddie. I'll examine Emmett while he's in the bath. Hopefully, it won't wake him." She pulled her uniform skirt from its hanger.

"Will you have to use iodine?" Eddie asked bleakly.

"I sincerely hope not."

"Yeah."

With Mama Biggins's help, Isobel managed to get her uniform skirt wrapped around her and tied. She retrieved an apron from the drawer and pinned it to her bosom while Mama Biggins tied the bow in back. Then she marched to the lavatory to turn off the water and drop the seaweed into the tub to stew.

A few moments later, Jasper carried Emmett through the doorway, wrapped in a bath sheet. "I undressed him before I brought him up, so if you will excuse us, Missus …"

"I'll go out while ye put him in the bath, but I maun examine him, Jasper."

"That's not appropriate."

Isobel hummed a laugh. "That's what Eddie told me before I examined _him_."

"And you ended up married." He managed to scowl, which would have been frightening with his disfigurement had she not known him to be such a pussycat.

She laughed aloud then. "Being married isnae the end of the world!"

"Oh, so you're going to marry Cap, too?"

"Aren't ye the funny one! That was hardly the reason we married. I have tended thousands of men, mae dear. Eddie's the only one that made me swoon."

"Swell." Jasper rolled his eyes. "You may as well help me with Cap, then."

"Excellent. Thank ye for being reasonable." Isobel helped to unwind Emmett from the sheet and Jasper lowered him into the murky tub. "I'll hold his head steady while ye wash him," she said, the occasional chuckle still escaping her.

Jasper procured a clean washrag from the cupboard and knelt beside the tub while Isobel kept Emmett's head above water.

"Eddie was right," she murmured, falling sober. "Thon doctor burned him all over. The welts are healing but they're apt to scar. Bastard."

"I know." He held Emmett up while Isobel washed his hair, then she took his place while he gave the captain a good scrub all over. Then, heedless of his own clothing, Jasper hoisted Emmett out of the water, leaving both of them soaked. Isobel wrapped Emmett in the bath sheet. Eddie appeared in the doorway.

"How is he?"

"He's lucky to be here. Dreadful Doctor Morton's made a right mess of him."

"Did you look at his Johnson?"

"Well," she glanced at Jasper. "Not yet."

"Ensure you do."

Eddie's directive cut down Isobel's distress substantially. Jasper wouldn't be able to argue with his order. "O' course."

Jasper carried Emmett down to their room. Emmett didn't stir at all when Jasper placed him on his bed, which concerned Isobel greatly. She waited by the fire while the ensign dried him, dressed him in a nightshirt, and tucked him under the covers.

"Well," he said, scratching his nose, "I guess if you're going to look at him, this is a good time."

Isobel expertly turned back the covers and lifted Emmett's nightshirt. She gasped, placing her hand against her mouth. "The poor mon. The poor, poor mon."

Jasper peered over her shoulder, his long hair tickling her ear. "Is that a blister?"

"Yes, it's a second degree burn, and that horrible doctor has torn his frenulum. See here?" She manipulated his foreskin but was careful not to retract it. "It's a verra bad tear. The pain must have been tremendous. I'm glad now that Harris put him on the potassium bromine."

Jasper began to speak and stopped himself. Isobel turned her head to look at him, then, turned her face circumspectly away. "It's all right tae ask me questions, Ensign."

"W-why would the doctor do that to him?"

"Some doctors are mad to know how bodies work. It's a known fact that electrical stimulation can cause erections but we dinnae ken why. Perhaps Morton's one of thon types. Or perhaps he was trying tae prove tae Em that he's still virile, in hopes he would be inspired to get strong again. I dinnae ken, but it's a good thing Dr. Dreadful isnae here and that I dinnae haff Eddie's gun, because if I had one right now I'd blast the bastard a spare orifice."

Eddie, who'd just come through the doorway, snorted. "Threatening violence to the establishment again, Bella?"

"Ye were right, Eddie. Cap has burns on his …"

"Masculine parts?"

"Yes. And his foreskin is badly torn."

Eddie winced. "Are you going to BIPP it?"

Isobel considered the options. "I'm afraid that might create scars that could stiffen the tissue so it wouldnae retract. And then he would haff tae be circumcised."

Jasper swore under his breath and Eddie sucked air through his teeth.

"An outcome heartily tae be avoided. I think it would be best tae try lanolin," Isobel said. "It's wonderful for healing but it will also keep the skin soft. I shall ask Mama Biggins if she has any." A brief trip to the kitchen yielded the desired result. Isobel returned to the men, holding up a small jar of lanolin as if it were a prize.

"Yes, she had it. Now, Jasper, come and see how to apply it, for ye will be instructing Emmett next time."

Jasper held up his hands. "No way. I'm not touching Cap there."

Isobel blinked at him. "Well, Eddie cannae do it."

Eddie crossed his arms and took a step back. "Keep the sheep oil away from me or I'm outta here."

Isobel looked up at Jasper expectantly. "If I do it, I'll get lanolin in mae skin and I willnae be able tae touch mae husband without giving him a horrible rash. Unless ye want Mama Biggins tae do it, this one's on you, Jasper."

"Aw, nuts." Jasper smacked his hands down on his thighs. "Cap will top me if he finds out about this. What do I have to do?"

"Just take a wee dab and smear it around. That's the ticket.iii He should apply it several times a day until this heals. And I think we'd best leave him exposed to the air."

"But Mother Biggins may come in!"

Isobel touched her finger to her lip and Jasper closed his mouth, but he was right. Mama Biggins was a prim old lady and if she accidentally got an eyeful of Emmett, they'd both be mortified. "I'll tell ye what. We'll make a bolster out of a couple of these cushions, and place one to the outside of each of his hips tae hold the sheet off him. But the air maun get through, or it willnae heal."

"Yes, ma'am!" They busied themselves with their work and when Emmett was nicely settled, Isobel went to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea. The doorbell rang and she heard cheerful voices in the hall. Then, Private Barker chased Tiggywinkle right under Isobel's skirts.

"Ten, hut!" She snapped, and decided it prudent to set down Mother Biggins's glorious Chintz teapot. Private Barker dutifully sat, tail wagging. He was soaking wet and muddy. With a loud hiss, Tiggywinkle flounced away, her small, pale nose in the air. "All right, then, at ease." Private Barker yapped and bounced and wriggled all over. "How did ye get home, then, ye wee beastie?" Isobel grabbed a rag and rubbed him dry.

Eddie stuck his head through the kitchen door. "Doctor Harris and Katy are here. They want to talk to all of us."

"Should I bring the tea?"

"That would be nice. It's gone cold and wet outside."

Isobel reached the large Brown Betty down off its shelf, rinsed it, filled it from the kettle and added the tea ball. She prepared enough cups for all of them and crumbled some shortbread on the tray. Lifting it pained her dreadfully but one had to soldier on. As she approached the kitchen door, Papa Biggins came out of his study and hastened to take it from her.

"You shouldn't be working so hard, girlie."

"Thank ye," she said, holding her side. "I'll bring the tea." She pulled up the tea ball and set both pots on a silver tray, but just as she went to lift it, Jasper appeared.

"Bella! You shouldn't be working so hard." He yanked the tray from under her nose and marched for the sitting room.

"I think I may be hearing a lot of that for the next while," she said to the ceiling. "God help me." With a slight chuckle, she followed Jasper.

Katy and Harris, being the wettest, had been afforded the seats closest to the fire. Eddie and Jasper sat together on the piano bench and Mama and Papa Biggins took the horsehair sofa, leaving one of the two Queen Anne chairs for Isobel. Mama Biggins poured the tea and passed it out in her fine china mugs.

"Oh, that's lovely." Harris blew on his tea while using the cup to warm his fingers. Katy cuddled her cup, looking around the room as if she'd never seen anything so fine. "Thank you, ladies."

"You're most welcome, I'm sure," Mama Biggins said.

"Hello, Nurse. How is McCarty?" Harris asked.

Isobel set her cup on her saucer and leaned forward. "I'm worried. He isnae awake yet."

Harris leaned forward. "He's still out?"

"Yes."

"How are his vitals?"

"His colour is bad. His nail beds are blue and he has electrical burns all over, most of them to the first or second degree. The worst one seems to be on his manly parts. Temperature is normal. His breathing sounds rough but his reflexes are good. His heart rate is holding steady at 120 over …" her gaze flickered toward Jasper and back to Harris. "One twenty over thirty-seven."

"That's very low!" Harris placed his teacup on the tiny table beside him, picked up his black bag and stood. "I should like to see him straightaway."

"Yes, Doctor." Isobel set aside her cup, rose and led him to Emmett. Jasper trailed faithfully behind.

Jasper and Emmett's room was cozily warm, and a single gas lamp cast a glow over the sleeping captain. Harris cracked open his bag, dug for his stethoscope, and got straight to work. He did all the checks that Isobel herself had done, and then several other tests of Emmett's reflexes that Isobel had never seen before. Some required contortion of his limbs. Through it all, Emmett never stirred.

Harris liberated one of Emmett's feet from the bedclothes. After digging through his bag, he lit a cigarette, took a drag from it, and blew out the smoke. "Please, God?"

Isobel cried out and Jasper gasped as Harris pressed the tip of the cigarette to the top of Emmett's foot.

Emmett didn't wake.

"Damn," Harris said. His hand shook as he took another draw on his Dunhill. "Damn it, McCarty. You need to wake up. You're a civilian now. You're home in your house!" He handed the Dunhill to Jasper and tucked Emmett back in, surreptitiously swiping beneath his eyes. Isobel's lip trembled. Hefting his bag, Harris motioned for Isobel and Jasper to follow him. Isobel took Jasper's hand as though he were a lost child, and led him away.

Harris cleared his throat. "Everyone at once?"

Isobel nodded curtly. She tugged Jasper back into the sitting room and sat him in the chair beside hers. The cigarette burned, unheeded, in his fingers. Isobel took it from him and placed it on an ashtray. She gripped his clammy fingers.

Harris rubbed his forehead. He took two paces in the confined space, stopped, and sighed. "He may recover, he may not. There's no way to tell. I am so sorry. This should never have happened."

"What's wrong, Doctor?" Eddie asked.

"McCarty … Captain McCarty has had a stroke."

Mama Biggins sagged against her husband and pressed a hanky to her face. "Oh, no!" He patted her, his expression stricken.

"A stroke?" Isobel yelped. "But isnae that due to a brain bleed? He hasnae been through a traum …" She stopped mid-word, and she and her companions stared at each other. Had Morton sentenced Emmett to death?

"Yes, it could be from electric current," Harris said. "Either the current itself, or he may have struck his head during a convulsion. Now the odd thing is, the heart murmur is pretty much gone. And his limbs do respond, although his muscles are atrophied; and there's not much distortion to the face, so I'm not surprised you didn't recognize it. But everything points to a stroke. And the main symptom, at this point, is coma."

"Is he going to die?" Jasper asked bleakly.

"I don't know. I wish I could give you a better answer, old chap. McCarty has demonstrated such fortitude. He's been through a lot worse than this, so I wouldn't be surprised if he pulls through. We'll just have to pray he wakes up soon."

"How long will that be?" Eddie asked.

"I don't know. Say his injuries begin to heal. He likely has a massive headache. When his brain stops hurting, he may feel well enough to join us. He's home, and with people who love him—you should talk to him, by the way. He may wake up in the next couple of days. Alternatively, this may go on for a while. Or … he may slip away."

Jasper suddenly lurched to his feet and dashed from the room. Isobel rose to follow.

"Bella," Eddie said softly. "Leave him." She sank slowly onto her chair.

Those assembled sat in awkward silence. Harris cleared his throat. "So, there have been some … developments." Everyone waited expectantly. "I'm going to petition Humphries for Morton's dismissal. But Morton has a lot of clout and he kicked up quite the fuss today. Ashby, amazingly, listened to the director and shut Morton down. The man may actually have a heart."

"Shocking," Eddie said.

Harris nodded. "I have McCarty and Hale's military discharge papers here. It might do McCarty some good if all of you take turns reading them to him. Sometimes patients who awaken from comas remember things people have told them."

"Thank you for these," Eddie said as he accepted them. "It's great to have you on our side, Sir."

"There is one more issue, Lieutenant, which I hope you and these good people may resolve satisfactorily."

"Yes?"

"Katy."

"Katy?" Eddie echoed, turning toward her. "What's up?"

"Our sweet little girl here had a fantastic temper tantrum on Humphries today in defence of McCarty. I never thought to see the director quail, but he most certainly tucked his tail in front of this threatening specimen."

Katy blushed furiously.

"Oh, I wish I'd been a fly on the wall," Eddie said with relish.

"She's been dismissed. I will, naturally, give her an excellent reference. But I thought, perhaps, you might have need temporarily of a private nurse."

"Room and board, plus one shilling a week," Eddie offered.

"I'll take it!" Katy said, eyes twinkling. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_."

Mama Biggins stood. "Bella, put her in the room at the end. I'll fetch you the key."

︻┳═一

"There's one more thing, Eddie," Harris said as everyone dispersed.

"I don't know how many more volleys I can take," Eddie chuckled bleakly.

"I want you to think about something. As much as I'd hate to lose you, an opportunity has been presented to me."

Eddie cocked his head to the side. "A job opportunity."

"Yes. I've been offered a post. At a new shell shock hospital. In a tiny town near Inverness. But my wife wouldn't fare well in the climate, and our children and grandchildren are here."

"So you're staying at our hospital, right? Or am I out of a job?"

Harris hummed a laugh. "Rather the opposite. What I'm suggesting is that I recommend you for the post."

"I haven't any training!"

"You have more training than a lot of doctors, and a talent for leading men. Besides, you're young. You have time to learn."iv

Eddie's jaw was hanging. "I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll think about it."

Eddie pressed his lips together and attempted to assemble his thoughts. "I'm not even going to consider moving to the north of Scotland while Emmett and Jasper are in such precarious health."

"Take them with you."

"To Scotland? In the winter? And what about the Bigginses?"

"The job doesn't begin until April."

Eddie sighed. "It's a lot to consider." Didn't they have a lot of sheep in Scotland? And didn't everybody wear wool? "I'll have to think about it."

"They want an answer by January."

"After Christmas." Eddie nodded. "I can do that."

"You'll do it? You'll take the position?"

He spread his hands. "No, I'll give you an answer by January."

"Fair enough." Harris stood. "It's been a pleasure meeting your family, Eddie. I want you back at work bright and early on Monday."

"Yes, Sir." They shook hands on it, and Eddie walked Harris out.

Eddie knocked softly on Cap and Jazz's door, then tiptoed in. "Jazz?"

Jasper was weeping brokenly, draped over Emmett's chest. Eddie's heart lurched. "Is he gone?"

"No," he said, snuffling and choking. Eddie walked over to the bed. Cap was still lying on his back, peacefully asleep.

"Snotting all over his shoulder isn't going to encourage him to rise and shine. At least, it wouldn't inspire me. Buck up, Ensign."

"He can't even hug me back. What'll I do if he goes west? I'll be all alone!"

"You need to think positive. Help me roll him over. He needs to be turned." Eddie took Emmett's arm and pulled him onto his side, and Jasper scooched up behind him to keep him there. Eddie walked around to Jasper's side of the bed, kicked off his shoes and put his knee up on the mattress.

"What are you doing?" Jazz demanded.

"Hugging you. You're not alone. Neither of you is alone. And he's not going west."

"How do you know?"

"He'll stay to take care of you. You mean the world to him."

"I love him."

Eddie was about to say that he loved Cap, too, when it occurred to him that perhaps that wasn't exactly what Jasper meant. "I know."

"It's like …" Jasper's sobs racked his body. "There's a big h-hole in my chest."

"Hush." Eddie said against Jasper's back. "What if you upset him?"

"Then maybe he'll bloody-well wake up and tell me this is going to be okay!"

"Tell him. Tell him to come back."

"Em, come back! I need you to wake up, damn it. You're scaring me! Please." He clung more tightly to Emmett and tucked his face into his neck. "Please."

It took a long time for Jazz to settle down. Eddie shifted on the bed. It was still early but he was exhausted, achy and in want of Bella.

"I'm not a Nance," Jasper said suddenly.

"I know."

"I'm just … very attached to him. That's all."

"I know." Eddie slid off the bed and stretched. "Katy's going to come in to check Cap's vitals a couple of hours from now. Get some sleep, okay?"

"You're not … nervous of me, are you?"

He stopped halfway to the door. "For what?"

"Okay."

Eddie walked back to the bed and gave Jasper a pat. "I'm a musician, eh?"

"Yeah."

"I've met quite a few Nancy boys in my time. Even counted a couple of them good friends."

"So?" he said defensively.

"So, if it should happen that one of my brothers were a Nance, it really wouldn't bother me overmuch. He'd still be my brother, eh?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. Sleep tight, Ensign."

"Night, Mace."

i **Seaweed baths** were used from Edwardian times onward for medicinal purposes. They helped in the treatment of burns and contained **potassium bromide** , which was calming and had the ability to stop seizures if ingested.

ii **Chloroform** is a highly dangerous drug. It was still used regularly in Edwardian times although alternate drugs had been discovered. Of course, it still exists today but it's very easy to give someone a fatal overdose. The scent of chloroform is determined by its strength. If the drug is highly watered down, it has a faint, sweet, chemical scent. It will make a person swoon but not pass out. If it smells funky (often compared to stale ejaculate), it's strong enough to knock a person out, but will likely leave contact burns on the face, may cause vomiting and may cause memory loss. The unconsciousness doesn't normally last much past the time the cloth is pressed over the face. If it smells rotten, it's poorly diluted and may be a deadly dose. If you ever come into contact with chloroform, don't try to smell it. People have knocked themselves out.

iii **That's the ticket** : that's perfect, that's just the thing. This expression has been around since the early 1800s. There are several possible origins, but it possibly came from the French, "C'est l'etiquette," which means, "That's the proper thing."

iv In Edwardian times, there were no strict rules as to who could practise medicine. One didn't need a medical degree or any sort of license. Most doctors were not college graduates. They usually went to medical schools, where experienced physicians taught them skills. Often, classes took place in the evening so the men could work during the day. Yes, the occasional woman managed to attend, although she might not gain a respectable position. Additionally, there were very few rules in place to protect patients, probably because the Hippocratic Oath was held sacrosanct and its first tenet is to _Do No Harm_. Still, researchers could justify a lot of experimentation in the name of finding cures, and abuses obviously occurred.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27:**

 **︻** **一**

 **Friday, October 12, 1916**

 **︻** **一**

"Have you learned anything useful?" Mama Biggins asked, standing on a step stool as she dusted the antelope head on the parlour wall.

With a sigh, Isobel closed Eddie's medical book. She'd spent all morning consulting various texts. "Thon expert on comas disnae say anything verra useful. It seems it's anybody's best guess what will happen, assuming Em …"

In the middle of the night, Katy had burst into Isobel and Eddie's room to shake her awake, scaring the couple half to death. Was it really necessary for everyone in the house to catch them unclothed?

Evidently, Emmett had opened his eyes, but by the time Isobel donned her dressing gown and ran downstairs, he was unconscious again. No amount of begging on Jasper's part stimulated so much as a twitch. The poor soul had cried and cried.

"What are his chances?" Mama Biggins asked quietly.

"Even, I daresay, although he's already sae worn down. But then again, he's a fighter. I dinnae ken. It's early days."

"But Katy insists he was awake."

"The doctor who wrote this book says it's not unusual for people in comas to open their eyes, move around or answer questions. Some even sleepwalk. The trouble is they're not really present."

"Then how are we going to tell if he's really awake?"

"I dinnae ken. He'll be … sensible, I suppose." Isobel peered out the front window into the street. It was a lovely day; one of the last they could expect before winter, but she didn't feel as though she could go out.

"Hm," Mother Biggins said sadly, "I'm sure that must be it."

Eddie walked quietly into the room, his suspenders resting on his hips. He was wearing a linen summer shirt with short sleeves; the flares and wheals on his inner forearms and hands had erupted into alarming shades of burgundy, merlot and ruby, and in places, there were even a few pustules.

"Is there any oatmeal?" he asked mildly.

Isobel sprang to her feet and grasped his wrists, turning his palms to the light entering through the front window. He grunted and flinched.

"What haff ye done? Ye're bleeding." As always, her brogue broadened and betrayed her upset. Mama Biggins stepped up beside Isobel to have a peek.

"My, that's terrible, that is."

"It's nothing," Eddie told her. "I was scratching in my sleep. Sorry about the bedclothes."

"Don't you go worrying about such. A little starch paste will remedy that." Mama Biggins hurried out, presumably to get some.

Isobel kissed the back of Eddie's hands. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I shall pack up that tartan right away to take back to Aunt Maggie. Mae cousin Colleen shall haff it." She pressed firmly on one of the wheals, leaving three fingers in place, then lifted them to make sure the skin blanched. It did.

"It's only urticaria, Bella. Nothing new."

"Only urticarial, indeed!" she huffed. "Did ye sleep at all?"

"Yes. It wasn't bad until I scratched it." He flexed his fingers as though eager to abuse himself again.

"Ye'll haff tae have the mittens back at night."

"Spiffy.[i] Do you still have the stockings you cut up before?"

"Yes, actually. Do ye haff hives annaewhere else?"

"No."

"Come ben the kitchen and I shall make ye a calamine poultice."[ii]

"Thank you." Eddie sat down on the bench in the kitchen and Isobel placed a cloth beneath his arms to catch the drips. Then, she dropped some linen into a bowl and poured calamine over it. "What time is it?" he asked.

"Eleven o'clock. Why, are you hungry for dinner already?"

"My eye appointment is at two."

"Oh, damn. Good thing _you_ remembered."

 **︻** **一**

The only distinguishing characteristic of Dr. Heath's clinic was its near-total whiteness. The walls were white, the furniture, too, and light poured in through the large windows. Eddie winced at the brightness.

"Lieutenant Masen," the man himself said, taking Eddie's hand and shaking it with vigour. "How lovely to see you! And Mrs. Masen. Always a pleasure." His bright blue eyes twinkled. He always remembered to come close enough for Eddie to see him.

"Hello, Doctor," Eddie said, liking the man despite the fact that their second-to-last encounter had hardly been pleasant.

"Welcome! I was worried you wouldn't come when you didn't show up last week."

"Sorry, I was detained at work."

"No matter. I'm so glad you agreed to see me again. Come, I want to show you something." He placed Eddie's hand on his arm and led him to sit at a plain white table holding a black apparatus approximately the size of a desk lamp.

"What is it?" Eddie asked.

"Have you ever had an eye test before?"

"We had to read acuity charts when we joined the army."

"But you've never seen one of these before, have you?"

"No."

Heath nudged Eddie's arm. "Go ahead and touch it. You can't hurt it, explore all you like."

Eddie placed both hands on the object. It had a wide, heavy base with feet. Not like a tripod, more like a microscope. It was possibly made of cast iron. And above the base was sort of a short pole. And above that was the strangest thing… two round, thick disks with glass in the middle. Not like a camera. Strange. And something like binoculars on the near side. And there were gears on the outer edges. On the front, some kind of thingamabob held metal-edged disks. Heath snapped one of the small disks from the holder and placed it in Eddie's hand.

"Here, look."

Eddie turned it over and felt it with his stumpy thumb. "Is it … a lens?"

Heath clapped him on the shoulder. "Precisely! Now, this isn't the newest machine, mind you, but it will tell us what your eyes look like inside and it will tell me if spectacles may be of any help to you. What do you say?"

"Is it going to hurt?"

"No, not at all. Except, I will have to shine a bright light in your eyes. That may not be very comfortable. But this is just like looking through binoculars. Are you up to the task?"

"Are you saying you think eyeglasses might help me?"

"Well, I think we should find out, don't you?"

"Yes!"

"Excellent." The doctor walked the length of the room, shutting all the curtains, then returned to Eddie. "Put your feet flat on the floor and set your forearms on the table." Heath pressed between Eddie's shoulder blades. "That's right. Now set your chin here and press your face against the phoroptor."

"Um?"

"This machine is like a microscope for looking at the eye. It's called a phoroptor."

"Okay, then." Eddie leaned forward gingerly and Dr. Heath arranged the apparatus on his nose.

"Good."

Eddie flexed his hands on the table, which mercifully felt cool against his hives. What would happen next?

"Now, it will help me if you can keep your eyes still. Do you think you can focus on the eye chart behind me?"

"I can't see it." Eddie was aware that his eyes tended to drift if he was unable to focus on an object.

"Can you pretend to look at it?"

"I'll try."

"Good. Now, you'll hear some clicking as I switch out the lenses. I already put some in the machine that I think might help you. I'm only examining your eyes right now, though, so don't try too hard to see anything."

"All right." A tiny dot of light fluttered around Dr. Heath. Once in a while, a beam of light swept through the darkness in Eddie's head, rather like the circling of the torch in a lighthouse. The insides of Eddie's eyeballs suddenly became visible to him. He could see squiggles, which were evidently capillaries, and some dark shapes that he couldn't distinguish.

"I can see inside my head," he told Bella. "And just so everyone is aware, it isn't empty." Heath and Bella both laughed.

"All right," Heath said. "I'm going to shine this directly in your eye now. Pretend you're looking me in the face and try not to move."

"Okay." The light got closer and brighter and Eddie tried not to blink, but the light was so damned intense. He clenched his fists and sucked air through his teeth. The doctor pulled his torch away.

"All right, that's it. Now we're going to do the same thing on the right side."

A few minutes later, Dr. Heath sat back with a satisfied grunt. "Excellent, my boy. You've been following my orders, I see." He pushed a cold, damp cloth into Eddie's hand. Eddie gladly pressed it to his eyes.

"Yes, Sir."

"And how do your eyes feel?"

"They still smart sometimes, but they're a lot better than they were before we started the treatments."

"Good, good. They're a lot clearer than they were a couple of weeks ago, that's for certain. You needn't do the eyewash anymore."

"Clearer? What do you see?" Despite all logic, Eddie couldn't help hoping he was about to get a miracle.

"Oh. You've washed out the loose debris, my dear. I don't expect you can see any more clearly."

He tried not to let his disappointment show lest it upset Bella. "No, not really."

Dr. Heath urged Eddie to his feet, then led him to stand near the edge of the room. "I'm going to show you a chart. Let me know when you can see something."

Eddie crossed his arms. " _Hmph_. All right." Dr. Heath turned out the light and for a moment, it was quiet. Then, something appeared mid-air, approximately ten feet away from Eddie. "It's a candle," he said. "And a flickering white blob, which I assume to be a paper. Don't set yourself on fire there, Doctor."

"Excellent, Lieutenant. Now what's this?"

"A black blur on a white blob."

"Huzzah! And now?"

Eddie raised a brow. "I don't know. A bigger black blur on a white blob?"

"Say that five times, fast," Bella muttered. Eddie snorted.

"What about this one?"

Eddie squinted at the large shape. "Is that a square?"

"Yes! Good. And now?"

"I think it's an A, but it could be a triangle."

"Bravo, Lieutenant!" The light disappeared and Eddie smelled the extinguished candle. Heath set his paraphernalia down on the table and reached for Eddie. "Come sit here again and have a look through the phoropter. I have a starting point now."

Eddie settled his chin on the rest and placed his face against the machine. Dr. Heath began to hastily compile and apply lenses to the opposing side. Then the right side went black.

"Just have a look at the poster now."

"Is that what that is?" The doctor turned a gear on the side of the machine. "Ah. The black blur again."

"Good. Hang on a second." He switched out a couple of lenses. Eddie blinked.

"Oh. It's an E. Only there's a black spot off to the side that moves around. Was it an E before?"

"Indeed it was." Dr. Heath shuffled the lenses. "Better or worse?"

"Worse."

The lens fitting went on for an exceedingly long, tedious time, and then Dr. Heath tested Eddie's better eye.

" _The great … brown … fox jumped over … the lazy dog_ ," Eddie read from a card using only his right eye. He didn't know whether to be excited or terrified by the accomplishment.

"Och, Eddie, ye can read it!" Bella clapped her hands.

"Is that really what it says?" he frowned, massaging his temple. "It seems a ridiculous thing for a fox to do. Who wrote this story?"

Dr. Heath patted him on the shoulder and slid the phoroptor away from him. "Never mind." He pulled his stool closer to Eddie. "Let's get down to brass tacks, shall we? I'll give you the bad news first."[iii]

Eddie tried not to fidget. "Yes, Sir."

"Your distance vision is pretty much gone. I don't think spectacles are going to help you get around and about. You're always going to be functionally blind, so I'd suggest you take more lessons from that blind friend of yours."

So much for being able to read. "But …"

"The black spot you see in your left eye is another bone fragment."

Eddie began to sweat. "You're not going to—"

"No. I wouldn't dare touch it. It's lodged too deeply and I haven't the skill. But Lieutenant, it could move and make your eyesight worse."

Although the suggestion had been made before, the possibility of loss now seemed far more concrete. Eddie found himself sweating at the idea of not being able to see anything at all. "What can I do?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry. But the good news concerns your near-vision."

Eddie shifted in his chair. "You think you can help me?"

"Oh, yes. Spectacles will definitely help you with close work like reading. But before we look at frames, let me tell you about your vision."

"Okay."

"Do you know what 20/20 means?"

"It means that if an object is twenty feet away, the average person can see it."

"Very good. Unfortunately, your sight is not so good. Your vision in the left eye is approximately 20/600, and in the right, 20/400."

"So if a normal person can see something that's six hundred feet away, a canon, for instance, then I'd only be able to see it if it's twenty feet from me?"

"Precisely."

Eddie blew out his breath. "Guess I'm barred from the battlefield, then."

"I should hope so. We do want our own boys to have a sporting chance."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Hah! You can bet your boots on it."

"Sorry, I like these boots."

 **︻** **一**

"Tired," Eddie sighed as climbed the stairs to their room. "It was a lot of effort."

"I hope ye dinnae get a migraine," Isobel said. "Ye've strained yerself."

"My parents would never believe me if I were to cancel—Holy Cow!" Eddie stopped dead on the stairs. "Emmett?"

Isobel ducked her head beneath Eddie's arm so she could see past him. Emmett was walking along the upstairs hallway from the WC, looking mesmerized. Jasper matched his steps. He was holding onto the back of the captain's suspenders lest he fall.

"Good gracious!" Bella gasped.

"He's sleepwalking," Jasper said tonelessly. Eddie had seen corpses with more colour. "He kept trying to get out of bed and I wouldn't let him, and then he told me he had to go to the lavatory. He's been twice. Managed quite well on his own, except I had to remind him to wash his hands."

"Wass'd 'em," Emmett said.

"Yes, well done." Jasper gave him a pat on the shoulder. "It's time to go back to bed now."

Wordlessly, Emmett crowded Eddie and Isobel on the stairs and grasped the handrail. He picked his way down to the main level, Jasper hovering behind him, while Eddie and Isobel gawped at them.

"So it is all in his mind," Eddie murmured. "He can walk if he doesn't fuss about it."

"He's slurring his speech," Isobel said. "He has brain damage."

"Yes, but he's not anxious. The neurasthenia truly is anxiety-based, contrary to what Dr. Beard avowed in his text."[iv]

"Dr. Beard believes neurasthenia to be caused by chaotic environments."

"Well yes, but is the damage to the body real or hypochondraic?"

"Ye're not saying Morton was right!"

Eddie's forehead creased. "No, Emmett's not a malingerer. Morton's act of barbarism accomplished nothing for Emmett. It almost got him killed. But if Emmett were to believe he could walk, would he do it?"

"That seems likely, although I hate to give Morton any credit."

"I've said before that I believe Emmett will walk again once he's free of distress, and physically strong enough."

Isobel pursed her lips. "Well, we've seen him walk before, but he's verra frail."

"Frighteningly so."

"Yes."

"Come and help me make a note." Eddie took hold of Isobel's arm and nudged her toward the upper landing.

"Are ye going to tell Harris?" she asked as he opened their door for her.

"No. We'll keep it between us. I don't want Em exposed to any experiments. We'll just monitor him and see if we can glean any facts from his behaviour later."

"Do ye trust Harris, Eddie?"

"I like him, but I can't trust anyone outside this house to put Emmett's welfare above that of scientific advancement."

"Agreed."

"We must collect facts, though, in case there's something we can do to benefit Emmett, and other patients, later."

"All right." Isobel removed her hat and cloak. She gathered a paper and pen. Eddie held her chair for her and then joined her at their little table. "Dictate away, my love," she said.

Between them, they constructed a detailed account of Emmett's symptoms since Morton's experiment. Isobel placed the papers in a file, which she hid beneath the mattress. "Nobody will come across it there."

"Nobody but Mother Biggins, and I trust her implicitly."

"Yes."

"Bella?"

"Yes?"

He tugged her gently onto his knee. "Have you been keeping track of your monthlies?"

"Of course. Sorry, trouble, but it's too early. Dinnae count yer chickens."

"Twenty-five days, Bella," he breathed against her mouth.

"Ah, someone has been counting."

"Someone would like to hedge our bets." He tipped her head to the side so he could trail kisses down her neck.

"Is that so?"

"Mm-hmm." He flexed his hips up so she could feel him. "How much time do we have before we must leave?"

"Two hours. But I maun do my hair."

"How long does it take to do your hair?" he plucked a pin from her pinafore.

"Forever."

Sighing, he plucked out the other pin and the front of her pinny fell to her waist. "I wish you'd leave it down." He tugged on the bow at the small of her back until it surrendered and fell limp. Much like her resistance to his charms.

"Tae go out with yer parents? That would be scandalous. I wouldnae dare."

"I'll give you thirty minutes before we leave."

"That's nae enough." She felt the button on the back of her petticoat pop open. Her back arched. "Eddie."

"Attention, Nurse!" He stripped her out of her jacket.

"Eddie!"

"Stand up."

"But—"

"You're wasting time."

Isobel supressed an eyeroll and stood. Her skirts whooshed to the floor, leaving her in her corset, garters, stockings and heels. Eddie moaned and stroked her bare backside.

"The things you do to me."

"I might say the same."

"Bend over on the table."

Isobel's jaw dropped. "But Eddie, we eat at the table!"

He pressed her forward gently. "Precisely." Once she was resting on her stomach and forearms, he gently grasped her ankle and raised it until she had her shin on the arm of his chair. "Is this hurting you?"

"No?"

"Are you certain?"

"Erm, I'm afraid to fall."

He held her steady and manoeuvred her other leg onto the other arm of the chair so she was completely open to him. "I won't let you fall."

His hot tongue caressed her from stem to stern and she pushed back toward him. "God, Eddie." She rested her cheek on the table while he nibbled and licked at her while kneading her backside. Her legs quivered. Then he wet his thumb and pushed it inside her, never missing a beat. Had her ribs not been broken, she'd have writhed all over him. Happily, he was doing all the work. And enjoying it thoroughly, by the sound of it.

"This isnae hedging yer bet, Eddie." But she moaned regardless.

"I'm only getting started."

As Isobel began to wonder if she could take it anymore, he rose and carefully turned her on her back, resting her legs on his shoulders.

"I love this," he said, trailing his fingers down her stockings. Releasing the buttons of his trous, he slicked himself on her wetness and sank inside. His mouth fell open and his face lit with bliss. He bit down on his lip and rocked forward, leaning his weight on his hands.

"So do I," she said.

"I'm so glad. I love you."

"And I love you."

He varied his speed, producing the most delicious sensations. Isobel watched him tenderly, awed by his passion. As his movements became more erratic, he reached between her legs and stroked her with his thumb, making her cry out.

"That's it, Bella. Come for me."

"Watch me, Eddie!" She panted and bore down, squeezing him so hard that he had to lean against her to stay in.

"Give me your sounds."

She babbled incoherently about his strength and comeliness. He began to tremble, and his jaw clenched. With a final thrust, he threw back his head, his expression falling slack, and she felt him pulse into her where they were joined. They breathed together, and then he wrapped her legs around his middle and caged her in his arms, lowering her to her feet. She leaned against the edge of the table while he tucked himself away.

He kissed her lips, then sank to his knees, dropping kisses on her belly and thighs as he descended. He took off her shoes and guided her to the bed, turned back the covers, placed a pillow beneath her hips, and covered her up. Mama Biggins had changed the sheets. Isobel watched Eddie lazily while he removed his boots, trousers and shirt. Then he spooned up beside her, bending his knees and lifting her legs to rest atop his muscular thighs. He really was determined that his seed should bear fruit. Isobel couldn't repress a smile.

'How's yer rash?"

"I'll live. How are your ribs?" he murmured. She could feel his heart drumming in time with her own.

"Still sore."

"Did I hurt you?"

"No. I'd haff told ye if ye had."

"I didn't offend you with my … coarseness?"

Isobel huffed a laugh. "Do I seem offended?"

"No."

"It was I who was positively brazen. I told ye tae watch!"

He brushed his lips along her jaw. "Oh, Bella. Just you wait until I have my spectacles."

 **︻** **一** **︻** **一** **︻** **一** **︻** **一** **︻** **一**

 **Happy Memorial Day to my American friends. Thank you to all our allied veterans for your service and sacrifices. 3**

 **Thanks to everyone who prayed for me and my son. I was awfully ill in April but I'm just about back to normal. Techwiz came through his angioplasty last week with flying colours.**

 **I can hardly believe it's been a whole year since I published MOMs. Time flies when you're having fun. Yes, I have lots of writing projects on the go. Hopefully I will still get a couple of things out this year.**

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[i] **Spiffy** : shiny and attractive. Usually used in reference to the appearance of a person or their clothing. Eddie is being sarcastic, naturally.

[ii] **Calamine lotion** : the mineral calamine is mixed with either zinc oxide (ZnO) with about 0.5% ferric oxide (Fe2O3) or a zinc carbonate compound. Calamine removes the itch from mild-to-moderate rashes. The World Health Organization lists it as one of the world's essential medications. It's cheap and easy to obtain. It can be poured into bandages and compresses, and is often used to treat skin ulcers.

[iii] **Brass tacks** : a phrase coined in Texas in the mid-nineteenth century, meaning 'to get down to the basics, or face reality.' Nobody knows the exact origin, but it's suspected to come from the placement of brass tacks in a wooden counter, a yard apart, to measure fabric to be cut up for sale.

[iv] **Dr. George Millard Beard** wrote medical textbooks dating from 1881, explaining that neurasthenia was an actual physical ailment caused by hectic environments, not a result of psychological weakness and hypochondria. He suggested the only cure was a complete removal from stress. Of course the treatment didn't often solve the problem as neurasthenia was (and is) caused by many illnesses, both mental and physical. Only psychologists continue to use the term. It's widely known today that neurasthenia would now be diagnosed as ailments such as fibromyalgia, PTSD, postpartum depression, chronic fatigue syndrome, mononucleosis and chronic depression. Amazingly, military officers who were diagnosed with neurasthenia might have shown no improvement with rest and removal from the stressful environment, but many were cured after revisiting sites where they'd battled during the war. Once they came to term with their pasts, they were able to heal and move on.


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